All Fun and Games
by Lostinthemindscape
Summary: Jerome finds his little harlequin on a bus he's supposed set fire to. Cheerleader!Harley. Slight canon divergence post episode 2x03
1. Chapter 1

**AN: hey lovelies! So who was excited for Gotham? Certainly me! It just needed a lot more Harley, so I added this in after I saw a prompt for cheerleader!Harley on tumblr. Let me know what you think, if I should continue this as a story. Happy reading!**

She hadn't noticed when the bus had stopped, nor when the gasoline truck had parked in front of them. As far as 15 year old Harleen Quinzel was concerned, she had an AP Psych test to study for. Even if the test wasn't until next week, there was a certain stress level Harleen wanted to keep down. Also a certain GPA she had to keep if the girl wanted to keep her spot on Gotham Charter's charity cases. What she did notice, was the screaming when a bullet zinged through a window. The boy in back of Harleen fell to the floor, hair already taking on the shiny tone of blood and his ragged scalp.

Then they boarded.

Harleen couldn't breathe. Her pocket knife was open, but these people- these _maniacs-_ had guns. Big ones at that too. Except for the redhead, he didn't carry much in the variety of firearms. All the girl could see was a small revolver, hardly enough to do any significant damage. But there was something incredibly off about him. Undisputed, this teenager was the leader. Whether the others were too stupid to notice, or that he was just the most insane out of the four men remained to be seen.

The four lunatics were making quick work of handcuffing all the cheerleaders. Harleen glanced at the boy on her team that had gotten shot. The puddle of blood was now at her feet and had stained through her tennis shoes. The small girl drew up her feet to the empty space on the bench next to her. One hand clenched tighter around the knife, the other bracing against the wall of the bus. She could take the redhead out, he didn't look that strong or fast. Her team might rally around her as well, cause a commotion. They were dumb enough to, even though most of them would die. Bye-bye Gotham High cheer squad.

"And what's your name, gorgeous?" Harleen looked up to have the redhead at her seat, revolver placed under her chin.

Harleen stared at him with hard eyes. "I'm going to die soon, it doesn't matter."

The boy backed up, a mocking expression gracing that actually quite attractive face. Harleen mentally chided herself. Now was not the time to develop a case of Stockholm Syndrome! She had to stay alive, get out of this bus. And if the gas truck outside was any indication, she had to figure out how to become fireproof in the next ten seconds. The odds were certainly not in her favor.

He leaned back in, the end of the revolver now resting on her temple. "Smart girl. But when someone asks you a question, you answer. Just human decency."

Harleen opened her mouth when one of her already handcuffed teammates cried out, "Are you insane?! Don't tell them anything! They're insane! A bunch of-"

The cheerleader never got to finish, as the thicker freak put a bullet in her head. Harleen could could see the smoking of the man's gun, the crazed smile on his face. She swallowed thickly, not daring to have the same fate. Her eyes turned back to the boy in front of her, an insane smile on his face as well.

His grin cracked wider than the Cheshire Cat's. "You gonna answer me, gorgeous?"

"Harleen Quinzel," she breathed out.

The boy laughed, a breathy sound that scared her more than any scream ever could. "Anyone ever call you Harley? Harley Quinzel. My little harlequin."

He stood suddenly, grabbing her arm, she dropped the knife out of shock, but fortunately the madman didn't notice. "Change of plan, boys! I like this one! We're taking her with us!"

He shoved her forward, Harleen stumbling before the chubby man grabbed her, holding a gutn to her temple. Slowly, she complied when he handcuffed her and threw her against the front. Harleen's head reeled in protest, all of her vision going blurry. They made short work of cuffing the other cheerleaders, the redhead moving towards the front, lazily threatening the team.

"Now I want you all to all to know, this was a very difficult decision for us," he began. "When it's between you and a senior citizen bingo party." He flashed one of those insane smiles. "In the end we decided to go a little younger. You won the game. I'm sorry. Give me an O."

When no one responded, the leader let out a shot, a perfect circle appearing in the ceiling. "I said, give me an O."

The team reluctantly spelled out his O NO, each letter gaining more lackluster responses than the last.

"What's that spell?" He laughed again. "Oh no!"

One of them brought up a hose connecting to the gas truck, handing it off to the leader. Harleen had feared they would use it to set fire to the bus and she was right. The redhead opened the nozzle, drenching her and the rest of her team in gasoline, most shrieking in terror. He was dying with laughter, sometimes his body shaking so hard he sprayed in a completely different direction. This made the blonde seize up in terror. What person-what teenager- Could be alright with the mass murder of others?

All too soon, Harleen was yanked up from her position on the floor, and thrown out the bus. A bald loon, dressed like the other two on the bus, snatched her up. The leader of the insane band danced out of the bus, pulling a lighter out of his pocket. Harleen instinctively turned away, not wishing to see her team go up in flames. But the poof of the flames never reached her ears.

"So embarrassing," the redhead muttered. He stood up. "Anyone got a light?"

Thankfully, as the thin loon handed him another lighter, the cop cars rolled up. She opened her mouth to scream, but the bald one clamped a hand over her mouth. As a second instinct, Harleen bit down. The bald one released her, and she tore off running towards the police. The redhead grabbed her by the waist. One arm held her close to his body, the other on his revolver, outstretched to the cops. She wanted to scream, but fear kept her voice from working. The cops were getting massacred by the one of them called Aaron and the chubby guy. One spark and the bus (and Harleen) would be up in flames.

The leader shot at the cops until his revolver was empty, leaving a ringing in Harleen's ears. When done, he dragged her over to the gasoline truck. "Light 'em up!"

The teenager held onto the driver's side, the other in an embrace that she could have called comforting if he didn't just try to use her as a human shield. Despite the rail thin appearance, the boy was a hell of a lot stronger than she expected. He was laughing as they sped away, Harleen turning into him only to escape the biting winds.

"Why are you doing this?" She choked out. Captives in Gotham never were returned to their families; the only exception was in a bodybag.

The boy grinned. "Because I can, my little harlequin."


	2. Chapter 2: Hidden

**AN: Well, I decided to make it a multi-chartered story! I think I have some idea where it's going, but I'm still not totally sure yet. I am so glad you all liked this so much and so, here's more! The song lyrics are from Tag You're It by Melanie Martinez. Happy reading!**

Chapter 2: Hidden

 _"Can anybody hear me?_

 _I'm hidden underground._

 _Can an anybody hear me?_

 _Am I talking to myself?"_

* * *

"Ms Agape, do you happen to know any reason why they would take Ms Quinzel?"

Hiccups proceeded the girl's reply. "Harleen? No, she's literally perfect. Good grades, everyone on the team loved her...She was the adorable little one, you know? Oh god, do you think they killed her?"

Detective Gordon pressed pause on the recording, siting back in his chair. He could find almost nothing about this girl. She was like a ghost. From the little he could glean from her shell-shocked teammates, she had a job at an ice cream shop, never wore her glasses the day of a competition, and loved psychology. One of the boys had offered up that she volunteered at Arkham on the weekends, filing everything. In fact the detective remembered her from his short stint as a guard at the asylum. Well remembered one conversation in particular.

 _"Oomph! Ah'm sorry!" She had bumped into him while he was making his rounds, her Narrows accent coming out when she spilled all the files in her arms._

 _Gordon had helped the girl pick them all up, including her glasses. "My fault, Ms..."_

 _"Quinzel. I intern here," the small teenager offered up a smile, the stacks of paper probably weighing more than she did._

 _"Well Ms Quinzel, I wouldn't want to keep you from your interning. Have a good day," he let her pass, buzzing the girl through one of the many gates inside the building. "Are you sure you won't need a guard to go with you?"_

 _She shook her head before stepping through. "Nope. I trust them. And they trust me."_

 _Prisoners greeted her and she greeted them back. The shy ones just nodded in her direction. She knew every inmate's name, their pet's name, and their hobbies. Whereas Gordon was feared and hated by the inmates, Ms Quinzel was loved. She was their small beam of sunshine in a maroon T-Shirt, decked out in a pair of pigtails with matching black bows._

 _As he turned to leave, Ms Quinzel cleared her throat. "Mr Gordon? You don't have to be afraid of them. They're really quite nice, if you know their names. When you realize it, we're all a little crazy."_

 _With that she made her way back down the hallway to find one of the doctors, inmates parting like the Red Sea. He could see some of the more dangerous ones being eyed by the others, as if to test them to do something to the girl. Nothing happened. All of the light in the place seemed to follow the teenager, hair bouncing with every step._

The memory gave the detective a renewed vigor to search her files, and her parents' criminal records, again. He owed it to the girl to find her and rescue her from the Maniax.

•••

After the gang of murderers had sped away, the leader had dragged Harleen into the bank of the truck, placing a burlap sack over her head. She had remained in the truck until they had stopped. This time someone more gentle had escorted her outside, blinding light filtering through the weave of the burlap. And then, the light was gone. What was proposed to be an elevator ride, dumped Harleen, her current captor, and whoever else was with them onto a floor where Harleen heard female voices. She almost cried out in relief before the voices were greeting the maniacs like old friends. There were more of them?!

"Who's the new girl, Jerome?" One of the females asked. There was a predatory edge in her voice.

The one holding her arm stiffened. By his voice she could tell it was the redhead. "She's mine. Back off, Babs."

Harleen heard muttering come from the female that spoke before she was being forced to walk again. Jerome. She now had a name for the leader. It made it that much harder for her to hate him. Names had always carried significance to Harleen, she thought they were the entire sum of your identity. And she always found it much harder to hate a person after she had heard their story.

They had entered a room, the door clicking shut behind them. The sack was removed from her head and what await her was clearly not what looked like a supervillain's hideout. The walls were a dark gray, lit by ornate sconces. A small mahogany door was off to the right, she assumed it was the bathroom. A huge bed took up most of the room, navy blue sheets covered in both practical and decorative pillows. But, to Harleen's dismay, another pair of handcuffs was already looped around the iron bed frame. Thankfully these ones had a longer chain.

"Like it?" He asked, following the question with a laugh. "Course you do! But really, answer me."

Harleen just stood there, lips pressed into a thin line. She wouldn't answer, for fear of breaking down in tears. Maybe if she showed resolve, they would return her. Or at least kill her quickly.

"Look here, my little harlequin," his voice got dangerously low. "You will answer me. I won't be afraid to send you back to your parents in pieces."

At this Harleen broke down laughing. She couldn't hold anything in anymore, years of being "perfect" shattered at a few words from a lunatic. Her parents care about her? Her mother was a drunk and her father was in Arkham. Her parents would be more than happy to get the publicity and the money from whatever TV specials they'd do on the Maniax first captive. She could see it now, a bunch of crack psychologists sitting on a panel debating if Harleen was a plant and what on earth had come over the criminals to capture her of all people. And then of course her glassy eyed mother, dabbing at tears that weren't there. Recounting how Harleen was such a good girl, how her mother had wished she could do more for her daughter. Like hell.

"Go ahead," she wheezed, tears streaming down her face. "No one cares about me. You picked the perfect captive."

Jerome seemed to not know how to respond. During her little breakdown she saw him crack a smile, but now that she was on the floor, back held up by the footboard, he seemed at a loss. The theatricality was gone, as was the hardened look in his eyes that time in Arkham could only bring. He looked legitimately confused. Harleen savored the look, aware it could be the last time she'd ever see it. Or the last thing she could ever see.

At last, he smirked. "We're in the same boat."

"You were admitted in Arkham a few months ago, right? Your name's Jerome Valeska... You killed your mother," Harleen looked up with this realization. She had suddenly remembered a few files she had to sort around four months earlier. "I... I had to run your file up to a doctor..."

Seemingly bored, the redhead got up to a standing position. "You're smart, aren't you?" He rested his hand on a fist. "What to do with you?"

"... Oh! I know!" Jerome sprung to action, walking to the bed and grabbing the long chained handcuffs.

He placed them around Harleen's wrists, right next to the other ones. As the second pair made a few satisfying clicks, he finally removed the first gasoline soaked ones.

Jerome stood up, leaving Harleen chained on the ground. "TV is there for your viewing pleasure, bathroom's through the other door."

He moved to the main door, the one that led to the other lunatics and, eventually, freedom. He opened it a crack and stepped out. Before fully leaving though, he laughed. "I think I'll keep this locked. You might be mine, but the others... Well they like to play with what's not theirs."

With that he slammed the door, leaving Harleen alone and very afraid for what would happen next.


	3. Chapter 3: Broken

**TRIGGER WARNING: this chapter deals with child/domestic abuse of two characters, implied rape and torture as well. It's not a very happy chapter. Also lots and lots of very graphic descriptions of blood. You have been warned. If you want a summary of the chapter without anything graphic or triggering please feel free to PM me and I will reply as soon as I can.**

 **AN: Oh my god lovelies, I never expected this kind of response for the story. It's absolutely amazing, I love all of you. Even if I don't respond, I read your reviews and smile. You're all so amazing and I just want to say thank you so much. Tell me what you think, and any comments, critiques, or suggestions you have for the story. Song is Gasoline by Halsey. With that, happy reading!**

Chapter 3: Broken

 _Do you tear yourself apart to entertain like me?_

 _Do the people whisper 'bout you on the train like me?_

 _Saying that you shouldn't waste your pretty face like me_?

* * *

All Harleen could feel was pain. She had hoped that the door would remain locked, but that wasn't the case. A woman with dark hair and an even darker look in her eyes had entered about twenty minutes after Jerome had left. Just the sneer on the woman's face had left Harleen's stomach churning. She had introduced herself as Tabitha. And Harleen didn't want to find out this woman's definition of play.

Unfortunately, that's exactly what happened. The teen's nude tights were in rags, barely holding on. Tabitha had carved an outline of three diamonds into Harleen's upper thigh, saying diamonds looked good on the girl. Harleen could still feel the scraping of the woman's long nails inside her as well, all the while the woman had a malicious smile on her face. And then the woman had smirked and left. Blood had ran in rivulets down the unmarred skin, staining the remaining shreds of tights. Pain coursed through her body, never really going away. It ebbed and flowed like the tide. Still, mascara tears flowed down her face. Her nose was running and she was still on the floor. Sobs racked her body, yet she tried to keep them quiet for fear of Tabitha coming in again. It had been about seven hours of fitful sleep and crying, now that the digital clock readout was close to 1 o clock in the morning.

When the door had opened again, Harleen had cowered as much as the chains would allow her to. Fear of the dark haired woman and her knives were enough to keep the blonde silent. She tried to make herself even smaller, bringing her knees up to her chest despite the pain when anything touched her new wounds. She felt raw and broken. As if Tabitha had turned her inside out, baring her entire soul for anyone to see.

She'd never verbally admit it, but she was relieved when Jerome walked through the door. For reasons she couldn't fathom, he was wearing a bloodstained GCPD uniform. The blood on his collar had to have come from the broken nose he had. But the rest... Well there was too much to come from him alone. Still she kept silent. His eyes were blown wide, the same look he had on the bus.

He hadn't even turned to look at her yet, instead going to undress. "No hello, harlequin? We're going to have a problem if you're on a vow of silence."

He had just taken off his shirt when he looked down at her. Shaking his head, he knelt down. "Missing home? I wouldn't worry about it. That'll change in a few weeks."

While his few weeks statement had scared her, she shook her head. No point in lying to him now, it would only bring even more pain and suffering for Harleen in the long run.

Jerome sighed dramatically, almost making Harleen giggle. Why, she had no idea.

"Then what?" He sighed, making his impatience known.

Slowly, Harleen stretched out her legs, whimpering at the pain that came with even the slightest movement. Her hands began to shake, the diamond pattern was still bleeding. It looked like a crime scene had happened all over her legs. She watched Jerome's face, nearly terrified he would cause more pain. For a second, the boy looked gleeful at all the blood but then a wave of realization hit him. She could see his eyes dart from the diamonds to her tights to the puddle of blood on the floor where she had been sitting. The redhead snatched up her hands, immediately gaining all of her attention.

"Who did this?" His voice was low, in both pitch and sound. His hands tightened around Harleen's. "Who. Did. This?"

"Tabitha..." She muttered, not wanting to feel anymore of the woman's wrath.

Harleen could see a thoughts race a million miles an hour in Jerome's head. But, he simply unlocked her handcuffs and stood in front of the bathroom door. He looked expectant at her. Taking the cue, the blonde painfully stood up, following the other as he walked through the door.

It was just as ornate as the bedroom, a claw foot rub sat in one corner along with a dark blue countertop. Crown molding covered the walls and the mirrors shined. Almost beside herself, Harleen reached out to touch the gold faucet, but recoiled as it was burning to the touch. Jerome stood in front of the sink, testing the water every few seconds until he deemed it perfect.

He nodded at her tights. "Take them off."

She complied, hissing in pain when the fabric snagged against the last diamond. Her underwear was gone thanks to the woman, and so was the top part of her tights, the only thing holding them up being Harleen's blood. Her shoes and socks had been lost a while ago, sometime between arriving in the room and Tabitha entering. But at another look from the redhead, Harleen got up onto the counter, sitting on the cool granite. It soothed her no doubt bruised lower areas, which Tabitha had her way with as well. Harleen winced just at the thought of even seeing the woman again.

"It's all very funny, you know," he began, washing away the dried blood on Harleen's thigh. "Boy meets girl, boy kidnaps girl, woman touches girl without asking." He paused. "Almost like slapstick. I think these consequences will be a little more, ah, literal."

He laughed at this. Somehow, Harleen had equated this laugh to safety. She was probably the only one to survive the bus. When he laughed at least it meant he was feeling somewhat alright. An extreme case of classical conditioning. Despite being aware of all of this, Harleen giggled. She felt safe for once in her short life. Oddly enough, sitting next to a criminal made her feel more at ease than at her home in the Narrows.

"Hilarious, isn't it, harlequin?" He asked, to which she nodded.

He began to bandage the now clean leg, pulling a little tighter than necessary. "Tabitha will get her due. Seems like the tigress is more of a coward than I thought. Especially when she touches things that aren't hers."

Finally, Jerome tucked the bandage in on itself, finishing the job. He walked out of the room and Harleen followed before something was thrown at her. A white T-Shirt about four sizes too big for her. Confused, the girl was about to voice her concern until she caught sight of Jerome taking off his pants. Oh. Pajamas.

Self-consciously, Harleen turned her back to him and wiggled out of her cheer uniform. Feeling his eyes on her, the girl hurried to get changed, ponytail snagging on the neck of the T-shirt. Finally it was over her head. The shirt was comfortable but she was swimming in it, the thing went down to her mid-thigh. Almost too late, Harleen remembered her scars, both self-harm and from others. The molting bruises that had always been covered by either her cheerleading uniform or a hoodie. Insecurities had always been her downfall, especially when it came to her arms.

When she turned back around, Jerome had already gotten into bed. He shirtless again, dressed in nothing but boxers. For a split second his back was to her and she could see similar scars on his back. Long thin ones interspersed with a thick one that ran diagonally down his back, no doubt caused by a knife. He was like her. Broken and scarred.

Harleen felt her face flush even deeper, but still climbed in between the cool sheets. Another clicking sound caught the girl's attention. Again, Jerome had snapped one end of the long chained handcuffs to her ankle. How could she be allowed to forget the bleakness and disparity of her situation?

"Don't," his voice dropped mid sentence. "Try anything. Alright?"

Harleen nodded. Soon enough, her eyes began to droop, still facing the redhead. After a few minutes, she fell into a fitful sleep, feeling safe even with being in bed with a maniac.

•••

It didn't take a genius to see that Harleen was broken even before Jerome had taken her. In fact, even Jerome could see it and he usually wasn't empathetic to feelings and such. A waste of time and all that jazz. But Harleen, her parents must have been some sick motherfuckers to let their daughter get so screwed up. There were some things that floated directly beneath the surface ready to be brought up at the slightest trigger. Her trigger must have been Tabitha.

Tabitha... That bitch. She had touched and _marked_ what wasn't hers in the first place. Harleen was Jerome's. _He_ saw her, _he_ took her, she was _his_. Simple. While diamonds were a good look on the blonde, the girl was currently dead eyed and vacant. Jerome liked a bit of spark, a bit of something edgy. Harleen had just watched him do whatever to her, the spark he had seen on the bus was dulled. And it was all Tabitha's fault.

He liked to watch people sleep. Considering his own insomnia, it was fascinating. He watched his harlequin sleep, her face contorted into a frown. Harleen had one of her small hands laced with his, the skin on the inside was calloused in places, contrasting the rest of the smooth skin. But from her wrists upwards, the skin was littered in scars. Hairline silver scars no doubt inflicted by her own hand, but there were others that were thicker and older. Shiny scar tissue dispersed between healing bruises that he knew were not from just cheerleading. And on her left hand, directly in the center, was a circular burn that was suspiciously akin to a cigarette butt. He recognized every single one of her afflictions, he had them himself. Especially the vertical ones running down their wrists. Of course, his had ended the second his mother had been deported from this world.

His scarred little harlequin. Her parents had to be Grade A assholes to try to destroy something as beautiful as she. He'd find them soon, liberate Harleen from them as he had himself. Then she wouldn't have to worry about them harming her anymore. No more fear, no more pain. Unless, she happened to enjoy _that_ kind of pain. He snorted, a smile playing on his thin lips.

There would be plenty of time for that later. Her parents were on top of his hit list, right after his own father. Harleen's parents needed a more creative punishment. He would have their own daughter commit the act, if he felt she was ready. But no, Harleen was still too fragile. When the time was right, she could do it herself. But for now, she had Jerome to take care of her. And he would take care of his little broken harlequin until his dying breath.


	4. Chapter 4: Beserker

**AN: it's an update lovelies! First of all, I** **apologize for any OOC-ness with Tabitha, I have one line and the fact that she likes to murder to go off of. Also, hypocritical Jerome and terrified Harleen, what's new? Thank you so much for the amazing feedback this story had gotten, I love all of you. And to that guest that suggested Harleen meets Theo, I can guarantee you that it will happen soon. Maybe an unlikely friendship? We'll see how it plays out. Song is I Want You by Elvis Costello. Please let me know any comments, critiques, or suggestions! With that, happy reading**!

Chapter 4: Berserker

 _I want you_

Your fingernails go dragging down the wall

Be careful darling you might fall

I want you

* * *

Harleen tried to stretch that morning, but the ankle cuff wouldn't let her. Stretching wouldn't have helped anyways, she might have torn even more skin. Sighing in defeat, the girl just opened her eyes to find Jerome facing her, asleep. He looked actually normal when he was asleep. No hard frown lines, nor insane laugh lines. Peaceful, like any other human being in the world. The sheet had fallen from his chest, revealing even more scars. There were two that looked more intentional to the girl rather than others that were just a by product of hard work. A pair of them ran from opposite ends of his collarbone to meet at the center of his chest to form a V. The last was composed of two pinpricks in between the boy's neck and shoulder. A snake bite. Harleen reached out to touch, fingers lightly tracing the V on his chest. Halfway down, Jerome's hand snapped out to grab hers. She tensed in fear when the boy opened his eyes.

"Curious little harlequin, aren't you?" He asked. For once his voice was devoid of any malice or darkness.

"Who?" Harleen responded. She didn't trust her voice to convey the rest of the message.

Fortunately, he understood. "One of my mother's many lovers. He figured I needed part of that bitch's name carved into my chest." He laughed. "He'll get his due."

Harleen just nodded, watching him take her left hand in his. His thumb passed over her long healed burn, as if the redhead was trying to rub it away. She wished he could do that to all of her scars, wipe away all of them from existence. In this moment, Jerome didn't seem like the dangerous criminal she had met not even twenty four hours earlier. Lonely, maybe, but not insane. And certainly not a mass murderer. He looked up at her, expectant for an answer to the same question she had asked.

She struggled to fight back tears. "My father... I... I was being bad. I deserved it."

•••

Jerome could hardly believe the words coming out of his harlequin's mouth. She truly believed in what she said, that she deserved every silver scar on her body. Every bruise, every imperfection, even the ones caused by her own hand. He could hardly contain his fury as he sat up. Someone needed to die, preferably both their fathers. And then anyone who had ever hurt her, who had ever caused her to pick up a razor in the first place. Jerome instantly hated these people. They had touched what was his, had left their mark on what was his. He was the only one allowed to touch her, to claim her.

Jerome got out of bed, throwing on one of the robes lying on the floor. He heard the rustling of the sheets, knowing Harleen had tried to stand up, but couldn't due to the cuff on her ankle. She still thought she has control of her own person, how funny. It would take a while, but the girl would realize that she was his in every sense. He walked over to the girl.

"Stay here," he ordered.

She looked away, crossing her arms. "Not like I could go anywhere..."

"I'm sorry, what was that?" He asked, a false smile creeping onto his face.

Harleen straightened her back, looking him directly in the eye. "I said, it's not like I could go anywhere."

He slapped her. Jerome watched her face, shock the most prevalent emotion. The slight red print of his hand slowly faded into existence on her face, giving the redhead immense satisfaction. He had marked her for the first time. Despite the fact that the mark would fade just as quickly as it appeared, anyone that saw it would know that she was undeniably his. Her spark was back, but too much of it. Back to a point where she should get snarky with Jerome and that was simply not allowed. She would learn, eventually.

"Don't try anything else, harlequin," he stated. "Or I might have to string you up like a marionette."

Slowly the girl nodded, fear clouding her bright blue eyes. He couldn't decide which he liked better on Harleen: fear or courage. Both came with delectable reactions from the blonde. A decisive glance at her face ensured that the teenager couldn't possibly pick just one. He did know that she wasn't leaving him, ever. She was broken and deranged, even though it might take some time for the latter to come to light.

Jerome leaned back and smiled. "Good girl."

With that he left the room, locking the door behind him. His happy mood instantly disappeared the second Harleen left his sight. He remembered what was the first order of business for the day: find that bitch Tabitha and make her pay. Second was breakfast. Maybe pancakes? He had to feed Harleen too... Shit. He had certainly not thought this kidnapping thing through. Well he didn't _have_ to feed her... Jerome could keep her alive with only the bare minimum. But then again, he wasn't sure how many days a human could go without food and water. Probably a lot.

"You gonna talk about your new girlfriend or what?" Babs was laid out on the couch, reading a magazine. Some habits died hard. "When do I get a share?"

Jerome simply rolled his eyes, going to the small kitchen they all shared. "None of you get to meet her."

Clacking heels caught the redhead's attention. If Barbara was lying down, and Aaron had decided not to become a cross dresser, then... He turned to find Tabitha surveying the room, acting like she owned the place. His hatred over what the woman had done, and his uncertainty of what she might do only grew as she stood there.

"Theo will not be here, you all have the day off," she stated. The woman looked around the room, stopping with a cold smile at Jerome. "I hope you don't mind, I took a little turn with your pet last night. Her screams are the funniest things in the world."

"Funny?" Jerome repeated. A smirk appeared on his lips. Oh he would have fun killing her, choking her until all the life left Tabitha's dark eyes.

He walked up to her. "I really don't think you know what funny is. You wanna know the secret to good comedy?"

"I'm dying to know, little boy," she drawled.

Jerome slammed his fist into the woman's gut, laughing maniacally. "Timing."

As the words left his mouth, Tabitha retaliated, a right hook aimed straight for the boy's jaw. Blocked, and while the woman was distracted, Jerome lifted the bullwhip out of her waistband. He caught her attempt at a kick, instead flipping the woman. He straddled her sides, wrapping the black whip around her neck and pulling at both ends. Her attempts of defending herself failed spectacularly, limbs reduced to a few spastic jerks. She was trained better- hell she had actually been trained- but Jerome had pure hellfire on his side, not to mention his own little spice of insanity.

"Irony's another one," Jerome made himself more comfortable, talking to the downed tigress very matter-of-factly. "For instance, I'm currently choking you with your own weapon. Very funny, hilarious even. Now what's not funny, is when others touch my things. My property, my harlequin."

He let go of the whip, letting it relax. Tabitha may have breathed, he wasn't quite sure. He would have killed her, but there would have been no meaning to it, no point to her dying. Harleen needed to do it. Maybe with his guidance, but Tabitha was her demon. Jerome had already gotten rid of half of his. At this, The boy got off of the mostly lifeless body, stalking back to his room, picking up a banana and a bagel along the way.

"Goddamit. Aaron, clean up that mess, she's gonna start to smell soon," Barbara snapped her fingers.

"I would worry, she's not dead," Jerome smirked as he entered his room. "At least not yet."


	5. Chapter 5: Toxic

**WARNING: UNDERAGE SMUT SCENE. Harls is currently 15 and Jerome is 18. Not as creepy as it could be, but still considered underage. If you want to skip, the sex scene basically starts at the paragraph where Harleen's thinking about being dragged down to hell and continues until the end of the chapter.**

 **AN: Don't you just hate it when your AU becomes 4 times the AU it already was? No spoilers this chapter, but spoilers for 2x03 at the very beginning of Chapter 6. You have been warned.**

 **Again thank you for the amazing response as usual lovelies!bro answer a review left on last chapter, I'm kind of imagining Harleen as Dove Cameron and how she looked on Shameless. This chapter is extremely Harleen/Jerome centric and before you ask, the intentional switch from Harleen to Harley is intentional. If you haven't noticed, rating has gone up, because I wrote my first ever sex scene this chapter! (Please don't kill me I had to read so much smut to get a feel for even how to write this. I didn't enjoy it as much as I though I would.)**

 **Two more Harley in Gotham fics I recommend are The Jester by Arkham Inmate here on fanfic and The New Intern/Dollbaby on AO3. They're pretty damn good, you should go check them out.**

 **Please leave any questions/comments/concerns you have. Happy reading!**

Chapter 5: Toxic

 _With the taste of you lips I'm on a ride_

 _You're toxic, I'm slipping under_

 _With the taste of the poison of paradise_

 _I'm addicted to you,_

 _Don't you know that you're toxic?_

* * *

Throughout the next three weeks, Harleen grew accustomed to the general flow of things at the penthouse. Of course, she never left Jerome's room. He brought her food (when he remembered) and cared for her. There was a pile of books that Jerome had stolen for her: psychology texts, Wilde, Hemingway, Salinger, just to name a few. They kept her busy and around week two, the redhead stopped cuffing the girl during the day. She was free to walk around, but was still too terrified to even touch the door handle. Jerome kept it locked, although Harleen wasn't sure if it was to keep her in or to help the girl feel safe.

The blonde's daily routine went something like this. She would wake up, often tucked into the crook of Jerome's body. Then he would grab the two breakfast and they would just talk or sit together, Harleen often reading a book while he told her jokes. Somedays he had to leave, others he would stay by her the entire day. At dinner, he had Theo leave the cart outside the door. Finally they would sleep, again with Jerome holding the small girl in a tight embrace. Get up, repeat.

Occasionally other things would happen. Harleen got to meet Barbara and Aaron. Aaron didn't talk much, but he let Harleen read to him from her psychology books. During these sessions, she wasn't sure if he was paying attention, but it did help Harleen go through her own trauma and how to deal with it. She compartmentalized her feelings about her rape and Tabitha into a small box in the back of her mind. That box was never opened. Reading to Aaron became her therapy, her coping mechanism.

And then there was Barbara. At first, Harleen was wary of the woman due to the fact that she had a relationship with Tabitha. Red flag number one. But the former socialite was nice enough to Harleen, even having nail painting sessions and nabbing the girl some fancy clothes. The two would sit on the counter in Jerome's bathroom, Barbara's nail polish collection spread out along any available space. Barbara did most of the talking, which consisted of fairly decent advice, complaints about one Detective Gordon, and how looks could distract a man long enough to kill him.

Jerome never really showed an outwardly care directly to her. She knew that he cared, mainly because Barbara never shut up about how he always talked about her. Stupid little things like "My harlequin looks better than you" or "Harley would like that" or the most common: "She would have gotten my joke". Harleen loved about hearing those little comments, they made her day. The girl knew that she was developing a case of Stockholm Syndrome, all the signs were there. But she also suspected that Jerome was developing London Syndrome, where the captor falls in love with the captive.

Harleen had these types of thoughts nearly everyday. Jerome began to kiss her on the cheek before he left and the blonde felt herself blushing every time it happened. He brought her things from his outings. Normal clothes, books, and stories from his adventures with the remaining Maniax. And often, when Jerome came home at night, Harleen was the one that helped him clean up, washed away the blood of countless innocents. Strangely, this fact ceased to bother her. She was falling in love with the insane redhead. And Harleen knew that she wouldn't change anything.

That night he was quiet. Harleen had greeted him at the bedroom door when he came home, but he seemed off. Not to mention the fact that he was covered in blood, again. She worried about him, despite knowing the boy could more than take care of himself. Harleen led him into bathroom, grabbing a towel and wetting it. As per usual, she hopped up on the counter as it was the only way she could comfortably reach his face. The blonde began to wipe his face, taking extra care around the head wound. It was angry and red, but must have happened earlier that day since the blood had mostly dried.

"Jerome..." She began, searching through the medicine cabinet for all the bandages she kept there.

"You want to know what's funny, harlequin?" He asked. "You. You keep doing this. There's no point, but you keep doing this."

Harleen sighed. "Sometimes... You do meaningless things because you want to."

She placed a bandage on his forehead. As she turned away, Jerome grabbed Harleen's hands, literally grabbing her attention. He leaned in close to her, making the girl's heart rate skyrocket. She didn't move, terrified of what the boy would do, there were two things that could happen. Harleen didn't know which she wanted.

"Like this, harlequin?" He whispered before kissing her neck.

The girl was certain she had died and gone to heaven. Or hell. Was this punishment for standing by, for not fighting as much as she should have? For allowing herself to fall in love with the insane redhead? As Jerome moved down her neck, going to suck on her pressure point, Harleen decided this was punishment. She had been dragged down to hell and it was full of incubi.

Jerome finally detached himself from her neck, a delicious, evil smile gracing his face. "Do you want to continue?"

Harleen nodded frantically, her hands lacing around the back of his neck. She pulled him closer, their lips locking in a hungered kiss. She felt Jerome's hands rub up and down her sides, going to rest on her waist. Sharply, he pulled her closer, causing the girl to end the kiss and giggle. She felt her blood rushing to her cheeks, singing in her veins. It was delectable.

Harleen unzipped her hoodie, only to reveal a plain black bra underneath. She shed the jacket, going to unbutton his shirt. She caught Jerome staring at her breasts, which only made her giggle even more. It made the girl feel powerful, much like what Barbara said about beauty being a weapon. Jerome lifted his own shirt over his head, deciding the Harleen took too long. Sometimes, shirts were unnecessary. Now was one of those times.

Harleen grabbed his chin again, but was stopped. Her picked her up with a grunt, her legs instinctively wrapping around his hips. He carried her out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, both their lips locked in a hungered kiss. Jerome dropped her on the bed, emitting a light squeak from Harleen. The girl scramble backwards to the pillows, finally letting her head drop as her climbed on top of her.

That was when she realized he wanted to go all the way. She had done it once before, with a guy on her cheer team. He was crude and left Harleen lying on the bed. It was not the most pleasurable experience for the girl, maybe it would be different with Jerome? Harleen didn't realize she had stilled, until Jerome cupped her face with one hand.

"Something the matter, harlequin?" He smirked.

Harleen sighed, she wanted to try but previous experience was telling her no. "I don't know if I- I mean I do but..."

"You gonna finish that sentence?" He asked.

Harleen looked into those sea green eyes and decided. She wanted to do this. As an answer, the blonde reached up and kissed him. Jerome growled against her own mouth, ridding himself of his pants, only breaking the kiss to get the confining fabric down his knees. She followed suit, throwing her shirts somewhere else.

Something about removing a majority of their clothes just clicked for the two. Like a switch, the pair began to move faster. Jerome becoming more animalistic, nipping along Harleen's collarbone, sometimes breaking the skin. The girl, in response, clawed at his back, trying to get him closer to her.

"Greedy little harlequin," he muttered in her skin.

Jerome made his way down Harleen's body, kissing and sucking. At first she tried her best to be quiet, not wanting to disturb, or even think about the others. But eventually the girl couldn't keep anything in, voicing lewd moans. For a minute, she thought she heard Jerome laugh, but then he did something wonderful with his mouth and Harleen forgot all about it. She was being bated for the world to see, but this time she liked it.

Rationally, the girl knew that Jerome was a terrible person, and therefore terrible for her. But she loved it, every minute of being with him. He was her own unique brand of poison, toxic in every way.

Jerome grabbed her panties with his teeth, pulling them down her thighs. Harleen mewled at this, no longer feeling insecure around him. Again, her panties were thrown in a corner of the room, quickly followed by Jerome's boxers. Daring to look, Harleen caught sight of his erection. It was... big. Would it even fit? She hoped so, or else this would be extremely unpleasant for all parties involved.

He lined himself up with her entrance, eyebrows phrasing the question. With a nod from the girl, Jerome slid in.

There was discomfort while her body adjusted. It didn't hurt, per say. There was just something inside her and that was a foreign feeling to the girl. She grabbed onto Jerome's arm, stilling the redhead. The two waited, Jerome being patient for once. Slowly Harleen let go of his arm and nodded. He continued to push in all the way and the girl could feel waves of pleasure course through her. It felt amazing.

Then he pulled out. Harleen was about to voice her disapproval when he slid back in, setting a slow, sensuous pace. The girl moaned as he sucked on her neck, leaving another hickey in its wake. He was marking her, claiming her. Despite her usual objections, she loved it. Harleen tangled her hands in Jerome's hair, bringing him up to her mouth for a kiss.

For a while, the pair continued just like this, moans and the other's name escaping their lips. A heat was building in the pit of Harleen's stomach, something she hadn't felt before. Then Jerome hit a certain spot, filling the teen with pleasure. Again and again and again he hit the same spot, until the girl was screaming her release. Her vision went white, constant pleasure rolling through the girl. Jerome wasn't far behind, moaning her name loudly. Harleen was a little more than flattered at this.

After, Jerome pulled out and laid next to her, facing each other. "Harls, that was pretty damn good."

She giggled. "Ah'd like to think so too."

Harleen instantly covered her mouth with her hands. She hated her Narrows accent with a passion, had gotten teased mercilessly at school for it. Most people in Gotham thought it was a mark of the lesser, that everyone with that accent had a lower IQ. It had devastated Harleen as a child, so she learned to hide it.

Jerome lowered her hands. "Keep the accent. It's adorable."

"Really?"

"Aaahh'm certain of it, Ms Harley," he tried to mimic her, but failed spectacularly. However, it did get a laugh from the blonde.

Harley bounced up to a seated position, going to get up off the bed. He grabbed her hand. "Where are you going?"

Harley smiled. "Ah was goin' to the shower... Wanna join?"

Jerome kissed her knuckles in response. The two got up and made their way to the bathroom, tickling and kissing and laughing through the night.


	6. Chapter 6: Taken

**AN: it's been a little while, but new chapter! Thank you so much lovelies, I'd never expected you to like it this much. If you like Harley in Gotham please go check out Maddie Rose's fic, Punchline. Also (lil shameless self promo here) I have another fic called Perfect Little Monster, which follows Harley and the Joker's daughter Lucy in the Injustice timeline. As always, please tell me any comments, questions, critiques, or criticisms you may have. Happy reading!**

Chapter 6: Taken

 _They think I'm insane_

 _They think my lover is strange_

 _But I don't have to fucking tell them anything._

 _Anything._

* * *

The next morning, Jerome had left without waking Harley. She tried not to think about it too hard, but some part of her worried that it was because she had sucked at sex. The blonde reminded herself that it was simply anxiety, and that Jerome had even said that she had done well. Still, the girl needed to get her mind off of things. Thoughts of sex led to thoughts of traumatic experiences which tempted the girl to open the little box in her mind.

To combat this, Harley began to push all the furniture to one side of the room. Once it was lined up with the wall, the girl began a sort of floor routine, trying to make the best of the space given. It wasn't springy, and there were no bars or beams for her to practice further on. Maybe she should ask Jerome for a beam... Harley laughed at her own thought. That was ridiculous, how would he get it in the elevator?

Still the girl began a modified floor routine, letting her mind wander. A round off ending in the splits, followed by a back handspring. Harley moved whatever way felt right, twisting and turning. She felt with every move, the blonde was leaving her past self behind. Harleen was timid and scared, only interested in self preservation. Harley was confident in herself, in really anything. Where Harleem was closed off, Harley was an open book. She liked this new version of herself. She was free.

Some time after dinner (Harley hadn't kept track) she began to worry. The familiar creak of the outside door resounded, but still no maniacal laugh or opening of her own door. Against her screaming instincts, Harleen walked up to the door, putting her eye to the keyhole. Barbara and Theo were standing there, flirting. She didn't pay much attention until:

"Poor Jerome."

"I don't know about that, the kid had a way about him. As does the girl."

"Mm, yes. The girl. She's going to have to go as well."

Harley slid down the door, hand clutching her chest. Jerome was... dead? It couldn't be possible. The boy was practically invincible, there was no way he could have died. He was indestructible in Harley's mind, nearly a god. An insane god, but still a god. She could worry about that now, she had to survive whatever the remaining Maniax had in store for her.

Rushing around, Harley grabbed anything necessary. She had no shoes, so three pairs of socks would have to do. A jacket was thrown on next. As a last thought she grabbed a Polaroid Jerome had taken of the two of them. He was laughing in it, while Harley was crying. She remembered that, he had tickled her until she was crying and begging him to stop. Then he had snapped the photo. Harley liked this one the best, it felt the most real out of all the other pictures. This one she slipped into her hoodie pocket. Before she could break down the door and run through, it was done for her.

"GCPD! Put your hands in the air!" A detective shouted, gun drawn.

Harley did exactly that, hand still clenched around the letter opener.

"Ma'am please drop- holy shit it's her!" The Detective called out to the hallway. "Jim! We found her!"

Another detective, one that used to be a guard at Arkham Asylum, came bursting through. Jim Gordon. Harley had liked him, he actually did his job and tried to break up inmate fighting. She constantly felt bad for him though, it was clear he was crushing on Doctor Tompkins. At Arkham, staff relationships were expressly forbidden, nearly as bad as inmate relations.

He sighed at the girl, taking her under his arm. "C'mon. Let's get you home."

Harley went with him, glancing back at the bedroom that had been her entire world for three weeks. Of course, no one heard her mutter. "But I am home..."

•••

"Ms Quinzel, will you please answer the question?"

Detective Gordon sighed. The girl had been rescued but she still refused to speak. Lee had said it was due to trauma the girl had received at the hands of the Maniax. Gordon didn't think so. She was more defensive, much like whenever he brought Selina into the precinct. Also the girl was curled into a ball on the hard metal chair. She had a tiny Polaroid in her hand, gently gripping the edges. Gordon had a glance at it, Jerome laughing like a madman while Harleen cried in terror. He had no idea why the girl would want to keep the picture, it was horrible.

"Is this where they all died? The police a few weeks ago?" Harleen asked, eyes wide and vacant.

The detective sighed. "Yes. Now Harleen-"

"Harley."

"-Harley. Will you please answer the question?"

Harley focused her baby blue eyes on Gordon. She giggled, but it never reached her unsettling eyes. "There's nothing ta know. Ah got kidnapped, got hurt, got rescued."

He sighed again. This was not the same girl he had met at Arkham six months ago. Possibly due to trauma... "Who hurt you, Harley? Was it Valeska?"

He saw her hand flutter to her neck, but otherwise she didn't make any indication of hearing him. "Is he here? His body."

"Yes Ms Quinzel, although he is not dead per say," Gordon answered.

Harley perked up, her eyes glistening. He could see her mouth working, but no sounds came out. A small smile spread across the teenager's face. The detective could not believe what she was insinuating. Did this girl care for the psychopath? Was she just as insane as he? There had to be some diagnosis there, maybe he could get Nygma or Lee to look at her...

She spoke up again. "Am I being detained? May I leave? The door's open so..."

"You're free to leave, I'll have Mr Nygma escort you out," he said.

After a minute of uncomfortable silence, Nygma came to grab the girl. He could hear the man tell her a riddle, to which she giggled at. Poor Harley. Abused as a child and now it appeared that the girl had a case of Stockholm Syndrome. She needed help, not to be sent back into an abusive household. Maybe he could ask Lee to be the girl's therapist.

Gordon followed the girl from behind, flipping through Valeska's case file again. There was nothing about this boy that would even be slightly appealing to anyone. Harley was abused, he could tell that much. And if Lee's medical report was anything to go by, the red headed teen had been as well. Common ground and experience might have led the girl to form a sympathetic bond with her, unless he had slowly tricked her into caring. Three weeks seemed like a short amount of time, but this was Gotham. Anything terrible could and would happen.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nygma bring Harley by the pen, the girl a little too close to close to the bars. Before he could shout, a hand snaked out and grabbed the blonde teen by the collar. Nygma tried to help, but stuck his hand in the cell and was bitten. Gordon rushed to the pen, gun drawn. Valeska had Harley pressed up against the bars, both chests flush against the bars. The teenage psychopath had Harley by her collar, both hands fisted in her shirt. For some reason she looked... happy?

"Harlequin, what'd they do?" Valeska asked, looking almost concerned. Gordon found that impossible, he had seen the boy's psych reports.

"Nothin'. Ah'm fine," Harley muttered. "Promise."

Gordon decided to make his presence known. "Put the girl down."

The boy laughed. "You think she wants to be let go? Let's have her pick. Hm, what do you think, harlequin?"

Harley's cheeks colored, but otherwise kept quiet.

"Oh you know what? You win, have her," Jerome released the girl with a theatrical flourish. "She's a little boring when she's quiet."

Harley fell to the floor, hands fluttering to her neck. Out of. The corner of his eye, Gordon could see Valeska wink at the blonde, who was being helped away by a few patrolmen. Working on anger and instinct, Gordon walked over to the pen and held the boy by the throat.

"I get it, you're angry..." The redhead choked out.

"What the hell did you do to her?" Gordon snarled, causing Valeska to laugh.

"I did nothing, it was all her," he smirked. "She's got a few screws loose, if ya know what I mean. Might want to get her checked out."

Gordon released the boy, causing him to laugh harder. Psycho. He crossed the precinct over to Harley, where her mother was waiting for her. He briefed her sobbing mother, who held onto her daughter a little too tight. Harley squirmed to get away and he noticed that she had hidden the picture. Smart choice. The pair walked out, her mother gripping the traumatized girl in an almost threatening manner. Once again, the man's attention was directed to the pen, where Valeska had made a finger gun and was pretending to shoot Harley's mother.

Gordon shook his head and climbed the stairs to his desk. He needed a coffee and a raise. At that moment, a fight had broken out between two prostitutes in the lower area of the building. Gordon sighed. Yes, he most definitely needed a raise.


	7. Chapter 7: Normalacy

**AN: ~Chapter updaaaaaatteee~ hey lovelies! Here we have a little bit of a normal day in the life of Harley, before Jerome. Also Jonathan is here. Scarecrow happens to be my favorite rogue outside of Harley and Joker, so it was just a matter of time before I introduced him. Don't forget to tell what you think and if I could be doing anything better. Happy reading!**

Chapter 7: Normalcy

 _I'm looking for a place to start,_

 _But everything feels so different now._

 _Just grab a hold of my hand,_

 _I will lead you through this wonderland._

 _Water up to my knees,_

 _But sharks are swimming in the sea._

 _Just follow my yellow light_

 _And ignore all those big warning signs._

* * *

Harley stepped through the front gates of Arkham, thankful for some sense of normalcy in her life again. Her internship hadn't been dissolved and Harley would take any time away from her own home. The previous night had been hard on the girl, her mother had drunk herself into a mad rage. As usual, Harley was on the receiving end of this rage. A beer bottle had come down of the girl's shoulder, leaving a huge bruise and several cuts. It hurt to just turn her head in that direction.

The guard smiled at her, buzzing her through the main hallway. Entering the caged hallway, the less dangerous patients immediately flooded to the gates, thanking Harley for coming back, asking why she was gone, and if she was staying on the staff this time. The blonde patiently answered their questions (leaving out a few choice details involving a certain redhead) until Dr Border came to greet her and take her to wherever she was needed that day.

"I'm glad to see you're well, Harleen," the doctor said as he took her down a dark hallway. "I can't believe that our patients would do that to you- actually I can believe it."

Harley smiled. She liked Dr Border, he was kind and sincerely trying to help the patients. He was also horribly naive, believing that any amount of rehabilitation could help the patients. Harley would like to help these people, but some were just beyond any feasible notion of saving. And some, well some she wanted to stay exactly as they were. For a split second she wondered if they knew what was going on inside her head- that she loved her captor- if they would lock her up too.

"I'm fine doc, really. Uh, where are we? I thought I was filing today," Harley asked, making an effort to hide her accent. Dr Border was from the suburbs and they didn't take kindly to Narrows accents.

The good doctor pretended not to hear her, instead taking her into the basement of the building, where most of the solitary cells were kept. They had two assortments down there, the normal bar-style ones and then the padded ones with plastic windows into the hallway. Dr Border took her to one of the latter cells, stopping outside the window. Harley peered in, but couldn't see anything besides a lump buried under white sheets.

"Doc... Who is this?" She asked.

He sighed. "After you left, he got worse and we had to move him down here-"

"Jonathan," Harley breathed.

The doctor nodded. As if on cue, the boy began to stir, kicking off the blanket and struggling against the restraints, which were handcuffed to either side of the bed. Harley saw his face, gaunt and his deep set eyes even more sunken in to his head. He was a living skeleton now. And he had been doing so well before she left.

"He keeps ripping out his IVs and refuses to eat," Dr Border said. "And... He kept calling out for you. Do you remember how to put an IV in? I know it's not ethical, and I could have my license for this, but he won't listen to anyone else."

Harley nodded. A guard stationed outside the door slid a key into the lock, allowing Harley access into the cell. The door shut with a clang behind her, setting her nerves on edge. Slowly, the blonde inched towards his bed. She didn't want to scare the poor boy. He scrambled to the edge of the bed, distrustful of anyone. By the way his arm was bleeding, she could guess that he had just ripped out a new IV, probably put in while he was sleeping.

Harley sighed. "Hey Jonathan. Ah'm sorry Ah left..."

He just stared at her like a caged animal. She supposed he was. His hair was greasy, clear it hadn't been washed in a while. In fact, the edges of the boys face seemed to be littered in claw marks, coming from his own too long nails. It made the girl want to cry. Jonathan had been her only friend in the Narrows, until Harley had transferred and Dr Crane had pulled his son out of school. She would have tried to convince him not to go if she had known her friend was being used as a guinea pig for possibly the worst drug this city has created.

"Ah'm just gonna put this in your arm, mkay?" She asked, wheeling the metal cart with all the necessary instruments for an IV.

His eyes were wild, but he stuck out his left arm. Harley smiled, glad he still trusted her. Even if it just this simple act, it was a huge step up from the first time he had been admitted to the asylum. His first time there, Jonathan was screaming about scarecrows and fire, desperately trying to escape. After those first two weeks, the boy fell into a bow of silence. Swabbing the skin with an alcohol wipe, Harley began to sing softly, knowing it would calm the boy.

 _"Somewhere deep in the dark a howling beast hears us talk."_

She wrapped a rubber band around his arm.

 _"I dare you to close your eyes and see all the colors in disguise._

 _Running into the night the earth is shaking and I see a light."_

Quickly, she slid the needle in, complete with the connector.

 _"The light is blinding my eyes as the soft walls,_

 _Eat us alive."_

Harley finally connected the IV to a drip, hanging it on a metal pole above his bed. He just watched her with his electric blue eyes, lighter than her own. She smiled and to her surprise, he briefly copied the motion. It didn't reach his eyes, but it was an improvement. As she turned to go, Jonathan wrapped his arms around her waist. He buried his head in her back, refusing to let go.

"Harleen, stay," he whispered, voice hoarse from disuse. "Please."

Harley bit her lip to keep the tears from flowing. She untangled herself from her friend's embrace, holding out her pinkie. "Ah'm comin' back tomorrow. Promise."

Jonathan eyed her hand warily before gently wrapping his pinkie around hers. Harley kissed her fist, watching as Jonathan copied the motion. Even if he didn't understand the meaning behind the gesture, she was glad some of her friendship remained intact in his Fear Toxin addled brain.

With that, Harley left her friend. Both Dr Border and the guard stared at her as she exited, the guard's blown wide in a comical effect.

"Those are the first words he's said..." The guard uttered, barely above a whisper.

Harley smiled. "I guess I'm just special."

•••

Larry Dumas in that cabinet, Martin Figaro in this one. Harley enjoyed the mindless work of filing. It made all her problems go away. For a second she could fixate on the endless names, most from the past two decades but the occasional one from the 20s. Those were always interesting and went straight into the "Deceased" file cabinet. The ones from the sixties were traumatizing. She could always tell the ones that didn't really have any mental problems until they got to the Asylum. The ones admitted because of homosexuality, those were the worst ones. They always made Harley sad.

Coming to two nearly identical files, she paused. Robert Greenwood and Richard Sionis. She could put them in the deceased cabinet, it wouldn't be a lie. But there was the "Escaped" drawer... Making up her mind, the girl crossed to the drawer reserved for those who had escaped Arkham and never come back. Aaron was in there, along with Barbara and Jerome. After placing the two other Maniax files inside, she paused at Jerome's. She already knew what he had done, but this time it seemed to be bigger for some reason.

Curious, she opened his file. There was the usual: name, age, date of birth, and date of admittance. But there were several more therapy session notes and some bulk to the diagnoses section. Against her better judgement, Harley began to read some of the notes, from that current week.

 _Red Flag Patient_

 _Shows symptoms of psychosis, ADD, and possible personality disorder._

 _Before escaping was in and out of solitary._

 _Complete sadist. Incapable of showing affection to anyone or anything other than Ms Quinzel (see below)._

 _Picks fights with other patients_

 _Shows signs of London Syndrome. Infatuated with a "harlequin" character of sorts, a bastardized version of the intern Harleen Quinzel. NOTE: patient is to be kept in solitary while Ms Quinzel is working, the mention of the girl sends patient into violent outbursts, threatening, and physical outrage towards the guards._

"Ms Quinzel?" A booming voice sounded, scaring the poor girl. "I'm here to escort you to Dr Border's office. Gordon's back and they want Ms Kean's file."

Harley nodded, grabbing the appropriate file before following the towering guard out into the main body of the asylum. As they walked, she wondered what the detective wanted. She had already told them everything... Well, actually she hadn't told them anything. She had uttered a few calculated fragments during Dr Tompkins' medical exam, knowing full well they would be returned to the detectives. Nothing as to incriminate Barbara or Aaron too badly. Jerome had already dug himself a hole with the whole kidnapping shtick. Still, she had played the part of traumatized victim. It wasn't hard, with the memory of Tabitha's visit that first night and finding out that the boy she loved might be dead. Most of them had ate it right up too.

While waiting to be buzzed in, Harley daydreamed. Distantly, she heard the buzzer go off and she waltzed through, not bothering to wait for the guard or his warning shouts. Before she knew it, the gate had shut and she was pushed up against a wall, Barbara's file fluttering to the ground. Her assailant was none other than Jerome. She was glad to see him, overjoyed in fact, but had to keep her emotions hidden. The last thing she wanted to do was get locked up in Arkham herself.

"Hello gorgeous," he purred, before cackling. "Miss me? Tell me, harlequin. Now be honest, don't spare my feelings."

 _Don't laugh_.

The guard that was supposed to be escorting Harley banged on the metal grate. "Valeska! Drop the girl!"

"I'm a little busy at the moment!" He shouted at the guard, before turning to Harley. "Some people... No manners at all."

 _Don't laugh, don'tlaughdon't-_ oh what the hell. Harley allowed herself a small smile, imperceptible to anyone but Jerome. He kissed Harley, looking almost hurt when she didn't reciprocate. Almost as if a second thought, he glanced at her shoulder, pulling down the collar of her shirt to find a deep purple bruise, courtesy of Harley's mother. His eyes narrowed and the boy muttered dangerously low under his breath. Harley kept still, eyes wide in case the guards thought something was up. She had learned her lesson at the precinct, she had to play the victim of she had any chance of ever seeing Jerome again.

Two guards came and pulled him off of her, each holding the redhead by the arms. He was laughing again, even as they dragged him to another corridor of the asylum.

"She should be in here too, boys!" The redhead shouted while being hauled away. "She's the crazy in this relationship!"

Carefully, Harley picked up Barbara's file. She noticed her arms were shaking. Of course they were. She wanted nothing more than to be with Jerome, away from Arkham where she wouldn't have to hide. But current situations prohibited that. Distantly, she registered the guards apologizing profusely and leading her back to the filing room. She found herself not caring, not caring about anything in the world but for her insane redhead.


	8. Chapter 8: Home Sweet Hell

**AN: Tiny lil update with no Jerome but I needed to introduce Marilyn for next chapter and I wanted to give you guys a little intro into Harley home life. There's a few derogatory slurs in here, if you don't want to read that just skip the dialogue in the middle of the chapter.**

 **Also I'm writing a little Halloween special for all of you, it will be posted as a separate story, but it should be up in the next two days. Thank you all for reviewing/faving/following, you all mean so much to me. Song is Home by Three Days Grace. Happy reading!**

Chapter 8: Home Sweet Hell

 _This house is not a home_

 _I'm better off alone_

 _No matter how hard I try_

 _You're never satisfied_

 _This is not a home_

 _I think I'm better off alone_

* * *

"Aunt Mabel? Ah'm home," Harley called, opening the keys to their dingy flat.

Aunt Mabel was sitting on the couch, cigarette in hand like usual. Her dirty blonde hair was greasy and stringy. Huh. Their water must have been turned off. She was the responsible one in the family, despite doing nothing but some job she wouldn't talk about. Harley figured it was probably prostitution, but until she had proof, she couldn't jump to any conclusions. Her baby sister, Marilyn, was sitting on the floor, playing with a spatula and a spoon. Harley loved her baby sister, with her chubby cheeks and curly blonde hair. She was everything innocent in the world, everything Harley wanted to protect. At first, it seemed that their demon of a mother wasn't home. But then the teen heard a crash from the tiny kitchen, followed by a string of curse words. Apparently not.

Stepping through the doorway revealed two empty vodka bottles in the sink and her mother bent over, picking up the shards of a broken plate. She was clearly drunk out of her mind, she usually was. The woman's blonde hair was stringy and covered in something foul smelling, probably food. And her clothes hadn't been washed in ages, Harley knew because she did the laundry. But only for herself and Marilyn. It was her little rebellion.

"Harleen Francis!" He mother shouted as the girl entered the grimy kitchen.

"Hi Mama," was her only reply, grabbing a glass of milk from the fridge. Thank god the power hadn't gone off.

Her mother just stumbled until her claw-like nails curled around the landline. "And what is this?"

"A phone," she stated, fighting to keep her voice level. "But Ah think you're talkin' about a call you had."

"'Talkin' about a call you had'" the older blonde mocked. "Of course! What else would Ah be talking about, Harleen?" She paused. "Four calls today about a stupid boy! You've been seein' someone, slut? He must be bonkers too, the call was from the police!"

"Mama, Ah don't know if you remember, but Ah was kidnapped," Harley didn't really consider it kidnapping of course, not anymore. "For three weeks."

Not wanting to hear the answer, Harley left the room, scooping up Marilyn and her toys. The two Quinzel girls marched to their shared room, Harley scooting up a chair against the doorframe so no one could get in. Marilyn just stared at Harley before returning to smacking the spoon with the spatula.

Footsteps stomped up to the door and it rattled, but their mother didn't have the sobriety (or remaining brain cells) to figure out how to open it. And Aunt Mabel knew about the bat Harley kept under the twin bed she shared with Marilyn.

"Harleen Francis Quinzel! Ah brought you into this world and Ah can take you out just as easy!"

"Give it a rest, Hayley. The girl probably has homework."

"That little whore is tryin' to sneak off to see that nutcase that nabbed her! Should have stayed with him, if she knows what's good for her."

The teen laid on the ground next to the three year old, belly on the floor, ignoring the adults. She remembered taking care of Marilyn after she was born, Aunt Mabel being gone and their Mama being drunk as soon as she could. And their father was locked up in Blackgate for armed robbery. Figures. Being twelve and being responsible for a whole other person was strange to the girl, but it was always her who woke up in the middle of the night with baby Marilyn. School was hard being sleep deprived, but fortunately her sister began sleeping through the night at only three months.

Marilyn needed a shower, dirt was covering her face and her hair was as greasy as the adults. Especially since tomorrow was Sunday and they had school on Monday. For those three weeks she had stayed in the apartment, Harley had grown used to the luxury of a shower everyday, to being taken care of and provided for. She missed it, to be completely honest. But Jerome was probably in solitary right now, and the Maniax weren't doing anything. Maybe if she asked Dr Border really nicely he would clear out the showers and let Marilyn stay for the day. The nurses already loved the little girl, as Harley had brought her there several times before. And Dr Thompkins only worked there on Sundays and could probably watch her for an hour or two...

"Marilyn, you wanna come to work with me?" Harley asked. "You'd have to be quiet but you can get a lollipop after."

Marilyn's eyes went wide. Lollipops and sweets of any kind were a precious commodity in their household. So she nodded, before going back to her spoon. Harley fiddled with the toddler's hair, distantly registering her mother and aunt get into another shouting match.


	9. Chapter 9: Deception is Perfection

Chapter 9

 _It's getting clear_

 _You're never coming clean_

 _So I'll lock you up inside_

 _And swallow, swallow the key_

* * *

Harley carried Marilyn into work the next day, holding the little girl upright on her hip. Marilyn was asleep, slumped over Harley's shoulder. It was seven in the morning, she couldn't really blame the little girl. The guard made light chatter with Harley before commenting on how much Marilyn had grown in the past month. Dr Border met them, leading the two girls to the showers. He stopped outside of the doorway, explaining that all of the inmates were currently in their cells so the Quinzel sisters would have the utmost privacy. He gave one last pitying look to them before leaving, saying that they had half an hour.

"Upsa daisy, Marilyn," Harley muttered, lightly jostling the toddler.

Marilyn yawned, but stayed standing where Harley set her down. Harley turned on one of the showers before getting undressed, setting their clothes in a neat pile. Standing under the warm spray was heaven. Harley closed her eyes for a second, enjoying the steam and the fact that they had running water. Marilyn joined her, splashing in the drain and shaking out her wet curls. Quickly, Harley washed them both, not knowing when they were going to have a chance at a shower like this again. Nirvana. That's what showers felt like. Harley got dressed, but as she wrapped a towel around Marilyn's shoulders she noticed a long gash going up the toddlers arm.

"Mary baby, what happened?" Harley asked quietly.

Marilyn grasped onto her hair, playing with the damp strands. "Mama got mad."

Harley sighed, dressing the girl before placing her on her hip and walking out of the showers, feeling much cleaner than she had in the entire week she had been home. Dr Border escorted both girls to the filing room, where Harley let Marilyn toddle around for a bit.

As the older Quinzel girl worked, she only thought of Jerome. His lips on her neck, his flaming red hair. His touches that were soft yet form, making her remember that she was his in every way. She missed the boy dearly. And slowly, she began to think of a plan to get both him and Jonathan out, ways to carry out her plan without incriminating herself at all.

At the designated hour, Harley took Marilyn to Dr Thompkins, who had an hour long break and promised to watch the little girl. Marilyn was elated by all the attention the nurses and doctors were giving her, Harley was just thankful to get most of her work done in the next hour. She slipped back to the filing room, softly humming a song she had heard this morning. She continued to hum as she pulled out a file, closing the door behind her.

"You know, harlequin, you're not half bad." A uniquely familiar voice stated, pulling her focus away from the current file.

Jerome was leaning against a filing cabinet, a grin two miles wide plastered onto his face. Harley ran up and hugged him, burying her face in his chest. He seemed to reciprocate after a few tense seconds. She breathed him in, smelling of course the cheap asylum soap but also something that was just him. It reminded her of a candy shop for some reason, but it wasn't a reason to complain.

When she pulled away, Jerome slapped the girl. Harley had been expecting the slap, but it still hurt, both emotionally and physically.

"You ignored me." He stated, nothing hurt in his voice. Just matter-of-factly, the same as if he had simply said it was raining outside. "That won't do, Harls."

The blonde nodded, glad that he was using one of her many nicknames. That meant he was okay. At least, for now.

"Ah'm sorry Jerome, but Ah had to keep up appearances and everythin' or-" Harley started to say, but was quickly cut off by another slap.

"Appearances?! You're mine, Harleen. You will obey me!" He shouted.

Harley had waited through enough of these while she was with him for those three weeks, one more couldn't hurt. "Ah have a way to get you out. But Ah have to pretend Ah'm scared of you so they won't think Ah'm helping you."

Jerome grew quiet at that, before a smirk spread across his face. "You sneaky little bitch."

Jerome scooped up Harley. Before she could even register his actions, his lips were on hers. Animalistic and rough, the exact way she knew he liked it. Harley kissed back with just as much fervor, missing everything about this. She had missed him, more specifically. His kiss, his laugh, the way her own body melded to his, as if she subconsciously knew she was always his. No distance could change that. Nor the fact that one of them was incarcerated.

He backed her up against the wall, effectively trapping her there. Harley practically mewled under his lips, her nails scratching at his clothed back. Jerome broke the kiss, a wicked grin on his face. He reached under the hem of her red shirt to fondle her breasts, deft fingers pinching and groping and rubbing. She moaned at this, trying to pull him closer to her. He resisted, that evil smirk plastered across his face. He knew what he was doing to her and he loved it. They both did.

There was a bang at the door, stopping the couple's revelries. She watched the shift in Jerome, from the man she loved to nearly reptilian in nature, his eyes taking on a dark tint. His body language screamed dominance and it was all Harley could do not to give in and just let him have his way with her. After all, she had a part to play. Jerome looked murderous for a moment, hands slipping back to form fists.

Harley placed her own delicate hand upon his. "Just until tomorrow. Then Ah'm gettin' you out."

Jerome nodded, giving her one final kiss. Harley screamed out, forming words she wasn't exactly sure of. They all called for help though.

The guards came rushing in, pulling Jerome off of Harley. The redhead laughed hysterically, the laugh coming out more in hitched breathing than actual sounds. Harley's lip trembled, playing the part of the terrified captive.

"One more day, boys!" He shouted. "One more day!"

The guards simply shook their heads at his delusional outbreak, checking to make sure Harley was alright. She nodded, weaving a tearful take about how she forgot to lock the door and he had come crashing in. The guards, the nurses, and the rest of the staff all believed her. She couldn't help but smile as she walked out of the asylum that day, Marilyn on her hip. One more day indeed.


	10. Chapter 10: Abandoned

Chapter 10: Abandoned

Marilyn had learned a few things in her three years of living. One, Harley was undoubtedly the greatest person on earth. It was just a fact of her life, like that Mama stayed in the kitchen and Aunt Mabel in the living room. Two, the woman she called Mama yelled way too much. Harley never yelled at her. Again, Harley was the best. And three, Harley would never abandon her. Sure, the teenager had left for a bit, but Harley always came back, so it was all okay.

So it went against Marilyn's core beliefs when Harley had her down the street from a fire department, her older sister crying and sniffling. Her sister had told Mama that they were going to work, the place with the cages and the loud people. But Marilyn was bundled up in her favorite jacket- it was purple and Harley had sewn kitty ears on the hood- and a backpack stuffed with clothes. She couldn't understand it.

"You got everythin', baby?" Harley sniffed, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. "Coat? Clothes? The letter?"

Marilyn nodded, clutching the letter Harley had given her in her tiny fist.

"Okay. Say you're a drop off, that Mama can't take care of you. Tell them that Theo Galavan would like you to stay with the Isleys. Just walk right in," Harley instructed.

"Teo Gawavan," Marilyn tried to say the name. It felt yucky in her mouth, like peas or Mama's cooking. She didn't ever want to meet this Theo Galavan, if his name is yucky than he must be as well.

Harley simply nodded, before taking the smaller girl into her arms. Her sister was full on sobbing now and Marilyn didn't know what to do. So she squeezed her little arms tight around Harley's neck, patting her sister. That's what Harley always did to make Marilyn feel better, so by the logic only a three year old can posses, that should end in Harley feeling better.

"Ah love you, baby. The Isleys will be super nice to you. They have a big house and lots of room for you to play," Harley sniffed, before sending Marilyn on her way.

Marilyn toddled to the firehouse, only hearing the Isley name once before. They had come into Harley's work one time, talking about money like adults usually do. Marilyn didn't pay attention much, she had the flu and was being checked out by Dr Tompkins. But they had seemed nice enough. Harley had liked them. And they did go out and buy Marilyn a lollipop afterwords... But when would Harley be coming with her? The little girl knew she had to work but Harley was always home right after dinner. As Marilyn was scooped up and questioned by the firemen, she began to nervously play with her pigtails. Something told her that Harley wasn't coming back, ever.

•••

After that fateful day, no one working at Arkham Asylum could pinpoint exactly what started the fire, or whom had helped Insane Crane (as was Jonathan's nickname among the orderlies) and Jerome Valeska escape. The police were at a loss, the staff and inmates having seen the trio could not give clear answers. Deeper questions ran with why they wanted to work together, the two teens had never met before, or why both agreed to take only one hostage while killing nearly every other member of the staff that stood in their way. Although each could clearly remember Harley's tear soaked face as the two patients hijacked a car and sped off. Poor girl, they chorused, taken away by madmen again. She simply has the worst luck, doesn't she?


	11. Chapter 11: Breakout

**AN: Okay, so no Harley POV this time, but it's time to introduce everyone's favorite murderous plant lady! Also I'm sorry if Jerome's a bit OOC, this chapter was mainly plot, I might go back and edit it later when I'm not running off of 3 hours of sleep. But I promise for more cuteness and Gotham City Sirens in the next few chapters! Also the mentioned Quinzel sisters are Harley's aunt and mother: Mabel and Hayley. Song is Strange Love by Halsey. Thank you to everyone's who ever followed/favorited/reviewed All Fun and Games! Please tell me if you have any questions, comments, and critiques! Happy reading!**

Chapter 11: Breakout

 _And everybody wants to know 'bout how it felt to hear you scream_

 _They know you walk like you're a god, they can't believe I made you weak_

* * *

Of course, that's how the newspapers printed it. In reality, Harley had been the one to start the fire. In addition, the girl had used one new inmate by the name of Jervis Tetch, a small teenager with a tech obsession. A few batted eyelashes later and Tetch was at her fingertips, rewiring the appropriate panels to let every patient out. The halls were a mess with guards trying to wrestle the inmates back into their cells, along with trying not to lose their lives to the ones that had been in solitary. Jerome had been uncharacteristically out of the action, instead taking his time with a certain guard that had eyed up his harlequin one too many times.

By the time Harley had gotten to the basement and had managed to free a nearly fully aware Jonathan, Jerome was whistling away, an Arkham guard's hat perched on his head. Harley had never been so glad to see him. The girl ran to Jerome, embracing him. She was stunned when Jerome enclosed his arms around her, but still pleased. And then came the glint of the gun in his hand, and sharp blow with it to her head. The blonde crumpled to the ground, only slightly stirring when Jerome picked her up bridal style.

"Gotta make it realistic," He said to her, even though she was out cold.

Jonathan didn't approve.

"The hell? Harleen isn't- she's not a threat," Jonathan managed to splutter out.

Jerome simply rolled his eyes, theatrically turning towards the boy. So this was Insane Crane. To be honest, Jerome expected something a little more threatening. This tiny kid had kept his harlequin's attention for years? That simply wouldn't do. They'd have a talk when she woke up, about possibly gaining her a few more beefy friends. At the very least, ones that didn't look like they spent their nights in a crack house, shooting up his veins with dirtied needles. Oh, needles for fingers. Now that would be intimidating.

"Are you listening? Fix her," Jonathan whined. Jesus H Christ that kid had a whiny voice.

Jerome simply turned and strode down the hallway. He didn't have time for this pathetic excuse of a human being. He had guards to kill and a Harley to fuck, skinny teenagers be damned. Unfortunately, that skinny teenager was hellbent on making sure Harley was 'okay'. Why the hell would he care? She wasn't his. Harley was Jerome's, plain and simple. Her well being was his to worry over and his to control.

As the unlikely trio strode through the hallways of the asylum, Jonathan seemed actually giddy at the amount of chaos. Any resistance was met with either a quick shot to the head, or pressing the smoking barrel to Harley's head and a wicked smile. Jonathan started to look on in glee at the uproar caused by the loose inmates. Hm, maybe the kid wasn't so bad. But then he had to ruin the moment by screaming as Jerome shot a guard point blank. Blood spattered over the three, causing Harley to stir. Goddamn humans. Why did they always have to bleed so much? Sure, it was useful for some things, but not when one was trying to make a relatively easy getaway. Jerome didn't want to do this much killing, there was simply no point to it all. No meaning, hidden or blatant. No inside joke to it all.

The rest had gone surprisingly smooth, albeit Jonathan constant whining. The three had walked out with minimal damage. The exception was a guard who had grazed Harley with his nightstick. Not even enough to remotely hurt, but enough to set Jerome off. The guard was shot four times, the shots copying the scratch marks Harley had received. And then they walked out the door, Jonathan hot wiring a car. Of course, Jerome dumped his skinny ass right next to the nearest building, but still. One had to commend the redhead for his patience. In any other situation Jonathan would be belly up in the nearest river.

"J... It hurts," Harley mumbled out from her place on the passenger seat. Her hand was in her hair, no doubt on the bump that was beginning to form.

Jerome spared a moment to glance at his harlequin. All his. She belonged to him completely now. And he couldn't help the flooding of his ego when she tried to move closer to him.

•••

A month after the breakout, Ivy Pepper was the first person to lay eyes on Harley Quinzel. She was with the redheaded crazy, the one they all knew of as J, but had never found a real name for. The boy, well he was an Underworld legend. The last surviving member of the MANIAX, also the only person to have broken out of Arkham Asylum twice. He had a record on him and hadn't even turned 19. There had also been a spree of killings that no one had confessed to, but if the purple swirly 'J' spray painted at every crime scene had been something to go on, it was him.

And then there was Harley,the light to his eternal darkness. Stories had been whispered about how she was the only one who could calm him down somewhat, how she had made the murderer weak. Ivy thought the girl had to be high on some nasty shit, it was the only way to even stomach being around J. He walked like the entirety of Gotham was his playground. It made Ivy sick.

Ivy had spotted the two outside of Penguin's hideout, speaking to Butch. J's arm was slung around Harley's shoulders, both looking like they were having the time of their lives. When the blonde turned to glance down the street, Ivy instantly felt she was in love. Kiss bitten lips were the first thing the redhead noticed, and then the big blue eyes. Her hair, while unbrushed, looked at least somewhat clean, which was more than Ivy could say for her own hair at the moment. The girl was an angel, all tied up in a Narrows' accent.

Ivy hid behind the building in her alley, staring at the two. She was so engrossed as the couple walked off, that the faint scraping of boots behind her was lost to the girl.

"Someone's got a crush," a lilting voice teased.

The redhead whirled around, coming face to face with Cat. Cat was certainly a strange one, their friendship born out of common experience and necessity. However, Ivy was odd as well, so she had no room to talk.

"Do not!" The redhead hissed. "She's interesting."

"Mmhm, alright. So do you wanna know about them or nah?" Cat asked.

After moment's hesitation, Ivy nodded.

"After she broke him outa Arkham, they both layer low for a while. But then he chopped up the Quinzel sisters and they got more bold. Penguin wants them under his control, Ginger there's a bit of a loose cannon. And apparently not too bad of a firebug either," Cat explained with a shrug, even though she hesitated on the word 'firebug'. "And they need the money. Blondie's the newest waitress at the Iceberg."

Ivy took all of this in, nodding at the appropriate times. "Cat... About the job cleaning tables..."

The curly haired girl laughed. "Now you want it? Fine. I'll talk to Butch. Also-" The cat burglar glanced her up and down. "Take a shower, Ivy, you're covered in leaves. I'll get'chat new clothes though."

She nodded, watching as Cat climbed up the fire escape. "Thank-"

"Don't thank me," Cat smirked. "I owe you for the time with the dogs."

The girl nodded again, watching her only friend silently creep through the fire escape and onto the roof before disappearing altogether.


	12. Chapter 12: Iceberg Lounge

**AN: Another update! I'll just keep this short and sweet. Thank you to everyone who keeps supporting All Fun and Games, you all are truly amazing. Please tell me if there's anything I could fix or just what you thought, I love hearing from you guys. Song is Young God by Halsey, happy reading!**

Chapter 12: Iceberg Lounge

 _But do you feel like a young God?  
You know the two of us are just young gods  
And we'll be flying through the streets with the people underneath  
And they're running, running, running_

* * *

"Jerome, Ah gotta go to work," Harley breathed, feeling Jerome's breath on her neck before his lips were in her skin, sucking and lightly nipping. They were in the car from the asylum, parked next to the Iceberg Lounge. The car was fairly hard to see into, since the sun had just set, but still Harley was afraid someone would see. Although, the rush that came with the possibility just made her more excited.

"You'll go when I say you go," he mumbled into her neck, playing with the hem of her shirt.

The job at the Iceberg Lounge had been generous. While Harley didn't like working under someone- she never had- it did pay the bills. And bills were limited to the various guns, bombs, spray paint, anything Jerome needed for his crimes. The only usual commodities the two paid for were electricity and water. This happened to be a very beneficial deal, as the man who owned their current apartment had a thing for insane blondes below the legal age. All it took was a lingering touch and the landlord was putty in Harley's small hands. No matter, Harley had full faith that Jerome would gouge out his eyes soon for his crimes. There was an entire folder on this man, his comings, his goings, and how to get all of his properties transferred over to the couple.

"Jaaaayyyyy," Harley whined, trying to push him off of her.

"Harlequin. What did we talk about?" Jerome's voice dropped low, the only time Harley was truly scared of him.

She hung her head. "To not act like Ah'm in control."

"Exactly," he hummed, looking up at Harley. "Who's in control?"

"Nobody. We just help those who don't know that. Help a little chaos along," Harley giggled, playing with the hair in the back of his neck.

"Excellent, gorgeous," With one final kiss, Jerome open the car door for her and she bounded out, waving goodbye as the blonde disappeared into the staff entrance.

Harley greeted her fellow servers as she tied on her apron and fixed the black bow tie. The rest of the female workers were required to have their hair pulled back into a tight bun, Harley being the only exception to this rule. For one, Penguin and Butch had finally realized how stubborn the girl was when it came to her hair. And the second reason was that Harley only really worked half the time. The other half, she was with Jerome in one of the booths, right next to the one that held Viktor Zsasz. The booths along the right side of the club were reserved for the more illegal matters. Each contracted murderer or thief was under Penguin's overarching branch and was promised immunity and perks in return for a small cut of the profits. Harley was in Jerome's booth for appeal, in case Jerome ever got bored, and also to smooth out business deals. No one in their right mind would approach Jerome without Harley, who was always recognizable with her trademark pigtails.

On this particular night Harley found herself trading jokes with Red every time the girl had to go back and dump a few empty glasses. Red and Harley were the only two underage girls that were in the waitstaff, although Red wasn't allowed to go out until after closing. Harley supposed it had something to do with the girl looking twelve despite the fact that she was sixteen. Red (real name Ivy, the blonde had found out a week prior) had been a street kid, but loved plants. Now she worked at the Iceberg and had a small studio apartment filled to the brim with plants.

After a whispered joke about one of the patrons and a few shared giggles, Harley stepped back out onto the floor, going around table to table, making sure the guests were comfortable. Then the blonde stopped at Cat's booth, the young burglar chewing on a straw.

"Ah see someone finally showed up," Harley commented, bending over to wipe the few drops of blood from Cat's last contractor. Harley assumed he hadn't paid up.

Cat shrugged. "Part of my protection deal with Penguin. I show up, I get paid. I'm not complaining much."

Harley just nodded, grabbing the empty glass.

Cat watched her movements, glaring at every perverted patron that dared to eye the blonde's backside. As Harley turned to leave, Cat grabbed onto her arm. "Me and Ivy are goin' up to roof at her break. You wanna come?"

Harley glanced at Jerome, who was currently in the middle of a business deal, a twisted smile plastered onto his lips. Well, that guy was already good as dead, nothing Harley could do to fix it.

"Yeah," she smiled. "J'll be fine without me."

•••

Ivy, Cat, and Harley all burst into laughter as the three girls lounged on the roof, enjoying the city lights. Of course, they weren't anything to marvel at in the Narrows. But if one looked farther, the gleaming spire of Wayne Tower could be seen. It shined above the Narrows, like a false promise that they would all make something of themselves. Of course, not many did. Most that were born in the Narrows died in the Narrows.

"So these idiots can't even get past one butler about a thousand years old and they come back telling stories about how Golden Boy has about a thousand ninjas on duty," Cat laughed, recounting a tale of some low lives that had tried to loot Wayne Manor. "Everyone seems to forget that the kid still lives there."

"You say it like you've been there," Harley laughed, taking a drag from Cat's cigarette, coughing slightly.

"I have. Got this as a souvenir," Cat held up her wrist, showing off a looped strand of fat pearls.

Harley handed the cigarette back to Cat, who leaned back and took a long drag. "The butler actually is pretty tough. Kind of a hard ass too."

Ivy glared at the two of them. "You two are going to end up dead one day from those awful things."

Harley turned to glance at Ivy, attempting to be sexy by looking out from under her eyelashes and biting her lip. The redhead lightly shoved her, laughing. Secretly, Ivy felt a flutter in her chest. There was something wrong with her. Crushing on Harley was basically asking J to come and remove all your toes and then your eyelids. And, cute blondes be damned, Ivy did not want to end up in a suitcase floating somewhere along the river. Also, she quite liked having her toes attached to her body.

"Can't one of your plants fix that? I dunno, just make a concoction and shoot us up with it?" Cat suggested.

Harley's hand shot up with a mad giggle. "I volunteer as guinea pig."

"Put your hand down, numbskull," Cat chastised the blonde. "It's not a damned classroom."

Harley just shrugged, glancing over at Ivy. "She'll do it though, she's brilliant. Aren't ya, Red?"

Ivy nodded, but couldn't still her racing heart as Harley beamed at her. Damn, J really was going to kill her.


	13. Chapter 13: Loss

**AN: Hey lovelies! I know it's been a while since I last updated, so I thought I'd give you all a longer, plot heavy chapter. Please tell me if you like anything I'm doing or if I could fix anything! Song is Trouble by Halsey and thank you all so much for continuing to read this fic! Happy reading!**

Chapter 13: Loss

 _Would you bleed for me?_

 _Lick it off your lips like you needed me?_

* * *

At the end of Harley's break, the blonde quickly waved to her friends before climbing down the fire escape, giggling. Before though, she made sure to chew a stick of gum, to get rid of any lingering taste of smoke. She liked having friends. It was comforting, like there was a hole in her chest that she was filling. And despite herself, the blonde found Ivy extremely attractive. That particular thought she needed bury deep down inside. Ivy was her friend, a new one at that. She had no idea if Jerome would even approve of her new friends, but that of course was for a later time. Right now, she had business deals to smooth over.

A brief stop to the bathroom let her change out of her irritating work uniform into something more comfortable. A long sleeved maroon crop top replaced her stiff work shirt, and the black slacks were thrown into a bag, only for a short black skirt to take their place. The skirt had been daring for the girl, but she was no longer afraid of the diamond shaped scars on her thigh. Tabitha couldn't hurt her anymore, so there was no point in opening that little box in her brain and letting it bother her. If Harley got cold, she could just use Jerome. Lord knows the man was practically a human space heater.

As Harley entered the main area of the club, she quickly spotted her and Jerome's booth. The girl bounded over, excited to not be working anymore. Of course, the booth was still work. But this work was fun, threatening people and they were getting paid to do it! Well, some of it did go back to Penguin at the end of the month. Harley approached the booth, watching the man opposite Jerome. The man was clearly out of his league, never having been to the city's underworld. He was rich, Harley decided, from the way his back was straight to the immaculately tailored suit. But the man was also terrified, if the sweating and fidgeting with his Rolex had anything to say about it.

Harley could hear Jerome speaking to the man. "And you see why we just can't have that, Mr Dirk. If you can't be honest with me..."

"We'll shoot your eye out!" Harley sang right next to the man's ear, causing him to go rigid in fear.

Harley laughed at the man's reaction, going to slide into the booth, sitting sideways on Jerome's lap. The quick kiss he pressed to her cheek let her know that she did good, that was the exact response he wanted to hear. Harley smiled softly, before taking a look at the money on the table.

"Seems kinda small," She commented, her thumb flipping through the bills. "What's it for? Robbery?"

Jerome paid her no mind, eyes trained on the contents of a Manila folder. Instead the man- Mr Dirk, Harley remembered- spoke up. "I doubt a little girl would be interested in the gruesome details."

Harley frowned, but still stayed quiet as Jerome put a warning hand on her arm. If she said anything out of turn there would be hell to pay.

"I get it. Truly, your wife cheated on you- my condolences- but you already got money, so you must fucking suck in bed. So can you really blame her?" Jerome paused, letting a grin two miles wide creep onto his face at Harley's stifled laugh. "But what's the point? There's no passion, no point, no joke to it all."

"The man my cheated on me with is a pastor," Mr Dirk said simply. "Use whatever you will with that."

Jerome cackled, before kissing Harley on the cheek. "We'll take it."

Harley smiled, curling her fingers into Jerome's hair possessively as another waitress came around. Harley wasn't a big fan of her coworkers, they all seemed desperate to climb the criminal ladder by getting on with more prominent crime lords. She knew that Oswald had his share of followers, everything from detectives on the wrong side of town to up and coming showgirls. Jerome's followers though, they infuriated Harley. They all tried to be dark and brooding, the exact opposite of her lovely, colorful J. Not to mention the insane fangirls had made several attempts on Harley's life and imitation J killings in order to win approval. If there's anything Jerome hated more, it was imposters.

Both Harley and Jerome watched Mr Dirk exit the nightclub. After the blonde could no longer see the hideous brown suit, she turned to the redhead.

"Are we gonna actually do it? Or are we gonna use the gang, Mr J?"she asked, cocking her head to the side.

Jerome grinned. "We'll be paying a house call. This one's going to need a personal touch. I'm thinking nail the man to a cross, he is a pastor you know."

Harley giggled, kissing Jerome on the forehead as they waited for the next client.

•••

Harley frowned up at the warehouse. This wasn't their usual style. And by usual, she often meant nightclubs, fancy houses, even a McDonalds once simply because the pay was good. Warehouses weren't in their job description, unless it belonged to someone important. This one did not. Jerome seemed just as confused as she, before trudging in. A job was a job.

"J, Ah don't like this place. It gives me the creeps," she told him, resting her baseball bat across her shoulders.

"We're doing a job, harlequin, that's all that matters. String up the bastard somewhere for the world to see, then get the final amount," Jerome snapped the revolver barrel shut with a final click.

Together, the couple searched the entire floor to find nothing. Jerome like this was all business, hard frowns and silence as opposed to the usual act he put on in front of others. Harley was about to voice the fact that they might be walking into a giant trap set up by the cops or other crime lords, when the redhead stopped cold. A voice was drifting down from the second floor. Nodding to Harley, they slowly crept up the stairs.

The blonde did not expect a lab to be up there. At first she thought it might be some large scale meth operation, but it was too bloody, too organized. Beakers scattered the tables, along with a giant chalkboard covered in scientific chicken scratch. And in the midst of it all, there was a lanky teenager in with their back turned to the couple...

"Jonathan?" Harley asked, incredulous.

Said boy turned around, mouth forming an 'o' as he took in Jerome's revolver and Harley's bat. "Harleen... What are you doing here?"

Jerome laughed, causing the other boy to start. "Well isn't this ironic? You're our next target, Crane. Little bout of divine punishment for being so needy at the asylum."

"J... Can't we just rough him up and snap a picture?" Harley tried to suggest, before she was cut off with a sneer.

Jerome's glare was icy. "What was that, harlequin?" He asked, practically begging her to defy him.

Harley's face flushed, the girl mumbling at the ground. "Nothin' Jerome."

"Now, to business. It's nothing personal, Crane," Jerome laughed as he stalked forward. "Actually, it's highly personal. I won't mind killing you one bit."

Jonathan tried to splutter out reasonings, even ask Harley for help. But the blonde could do nothing but stand there, petrified as her lover went after her only childhood friend.

She clutched onto the handle of her bat tightly, terrified of making a move in either's favor. Out of the corner of her eye, Harley saw the glint of a blade in Jonathan's palm. Her warning scream died on her lips as the blade sunk into the side of Jerome's neck, blood running down his body in red rivers. Jonathan's face was a mask of horror and shock, as if he hadn't just killed someone. The teen yanked the knife out, the blood shining unnaturally in the industrial lighting.

The sight of the knife was enough to spur Harley into action, running to help alleviate Jerome's fall. Distantly, she heard Jonathan run but that wasn't her main concern at the moment. She pressed her hands to Jerome's neck in an attempt to stop the bleeding, tears rushing down her face.

"Jerome, J, stay with me please," she begged, ripping off part of his shirt to create a bandage. "Please."

"Harley..." He muttered, before coughing up blood, a trail of it running down his face in a demented half-smile.

And then, he stopped moving. Harley stared in shock, trying to shake his shoulders to awaken him, placing her head on his chest to hear a pulse that wasn't there. Her movements were frantic, checking everything that might hint that Jerome was still alive.

She tapped the side of his face, her actions becoming more crazed. "No, no, no! J you can't leave me! Ah'm yours, you promised you wouldn't leave me!" She shouted through tears, before growing very quiet. "You promised."

 _I love you,_ were the unspoken words that died in her throat.

She tried to wipe away her tears, only to find that her still bloody hands left streaks of red on her cheeks. The gravity of everything that had occurred hit her like a truck. Slowly, Harley bent to give Jerome one last kiss. Then she stood up, baseball bat clenched tightly in her hand. Harley saw everything tinged with red, the only thing on her mind was enacting revenge as she stalked through the warehouse.


	14. Chapter 14: Demented

**AN: So... A lot of you are pissed about me killing off Jerome. But this is the Gotham universe, no one stays truly dead. Which is why I decided to give you all this chapter. It gives a lot of insight into the plot I have going on, which I hope you all will still continue to enjoy. Just, before you write off this story forever, please read the chapter. It will make sense. I promise.**

 **Okay. Serious time. I was left a certain review that was very much a backhanded compliment. In addition to killing off Jerome- was very upset over the fact that Ivy had a crush on Harley. Usually I would leave this review to wither, but I felt I needed to clear things up. I am very aware that pre-New 52 comics have Ivy as asexual. Asexuality is the absence of sexual attraction. However, asexuals can be sex positive or sex repulsed, depending on their personal preferences. Asexuals can feel romantic attraction, which is exactly what Ivy feels for Harley in this story. For the purposes of this story, she is biromantic and asexual, which is a very possible combination given Comic!Ivy's relationship with Harley. My Ivy is a blend of what we know in the show, a precursor and basis to some of her comic behaviors.**

 **And before someone argues that crushes are about wanting to have sex with someone, they aren't. There's a word for that and it's called lust.**

 **Now I am not asexual. However, my best friend is and has helped me understand asexuality and was offended that someone had insinuated that her community could not feel romantic attraction. This will be the last and only time I will address this. Please do your research on a topic before going into social justice mode.**

 **TDLR: One does not have to be heteroromantic to be asexual.**

 **For those that continue to support this story, thank you so much! You are wonderful! The song is Jesus of Suburbia by Green Day. Happy reading! (I promise it's happier this time)**

Chapter 14

 _Dearly beloved are you listening?_

 _I can't remember a word that you were saying_

 _Are we demented or am I disturbed?_

 _The space that's in between insane and insecure_

* * *

Harley had cornered Jonathan on a brick wall outside the warehouse. Jerome's body was already safely out, mother blonde had dragged it out to a street corner before calling 911 on a pay phone. It was the best she could do at this point, with her attention centered on Jonathan. Her bar was aimed, ready to strike.

"J's dead, Harleen. You're free of him. You don't have to do this anymore," he managed through gasps of pain.

The reminder only spurred on the girl even more. The bat clattered to the floor. With her free hand, the blonde flicked open a pocket knife. The blade went instantly against the teen's throat as Harley backed him up against the brick wall of the alley. The dim lighting cast distorted shadows on Jonathan's face . The blonde practically snarled at him, eyebrows furrowed into a hard line. He had no idea of her rage, of what she was capable of or what she had planned for him.

"Why? Why not me?!" She screamed. "He would be fine without me!"

The teen frowned. "J was going to kill me, I had no choice. It's not like I intended to kill him. There's a bounty on my head and you two just had the short stick."

"You asshole!" She shouted through tears, this time her arm pinning the other to the wall. "He was my person, you could have just KOed him or... Or... Or something!"

"Eloquent word choice, Harleen," Jonathan commented.

"Ah hate you, this is your fucking fault!" Harley set her brows into a furrowed line. Jonathan was going to pay... "Why the hell were you there?"

Jonathan sighed, using two fingers to bring the knife farther from his neck. "I was creating an antidote to the fear toxin. It works for a few hours at a time, given the right dosages."

She couldn't kill him, Jonathan was too invested in Harley's own life for her to do that. It would be a mercy killing, with the way his brain worked now. The hallucinations, the fear... Harley stepped back, resolution in her baby blue eyes. She wouldn't kill him, but she had all the tools to make him suffer. And suffer he would.

"Ah will destroy you," she promised, picking up her fallen knife. "By the time this is over, you will have wished Ah killed you."

With that ominous pronouncement, Harley flicked open her lighter. The second light source made her face look older and harder. It revealed the spark of something in her, that little slice of insanity that had been carved just for her. With a light throw, the lighter flew through the window. The gasoline trail she had laid sparked up in flames. Calmly, the blonde stalked away, ignoring the pained cries of her friend. In fact, the harlequin let herself smile as Jonathan's research went up in fiery retribution.

•••

Dr Strange watched as the newest acquisition of Indian Hill was wheeled into the amphitheater. Another body, another tube. Ms Peabody stood at his back, ever watchful and ever present. Strange actually enjoyed her company, as much as he could enjoy other, ordinary humans. The extraordinary ones, those were the people he longed to be around. The were just fascinating. From the like minded Doctor Freise to the perplexing yet intriguing Fish Mooney, Strange finally felt at an equal standpoint with these people that normal society would dismiss as freaks. But with the newest body, Strange had to admit that he had a few doubts.

The shock of red hair was certainly the first misgiving. Strange did not particularly enjoy redheads, he found their skin too fragile with wounds and scarring to help with any sort of regenerative testing. Skin. The boy's skin was another problem. Strange liked to leave his mark on his experiments, a clear indication of what had made them. The newest subject, his skin was littered with imperfections! Scars of all sizes, freckles, and what the doctor believed to unhealed scratches. He didn't want to think of the acts that had caused those scratches, never being one for intimate pleasures.

But, the redhead's reputation was certainly impressive. The last, truly great member of the Maniax. Kidnapping, murder, arson, a surprisingly good Russian Roulette player, name it and the skinny teen had certainly done it. Strange had taken on Jerome Valeska as more of a pet project, rather than his others. They all had such simple procedures. Reanimate, turn loose, enjoy their mayhem. No, Valeska was a special case. Hugo Strange had a long held question and was now finally getting the answer: how long does it take to break a psychopath?

"This one seems more trouble than he's worth," Ms Peabody commented.

Strange followed her line of sight to Valeska, who was slowly defrosting due to Freise's ingenious technology. The doctor smiled in amusement as the teen sat up, testing his limbs before bounding over to one of the guards in an attempt to strangle him. Apparently this boy had no recuperation period. Fascinating.

"He will be worth it," the doctor commented, watching as Valeska took out every orderly and guard in the room.

Ms Peabody frowned. "And you don't believe the girlfriend will come looking for revenge?"

"The Quinzel girl?" He scoffed. "She doesn't even pose a threat."

"But she did break two of the most volatile patients out of Arkham and was coming dangerously close to Indian Hill," she argued.

Dr Strange did have to give her that. Pressing a button that allowed the inhabitants of the chamber to hear him, the PA system crackled to life. Valeska seemed to be intrigued by this, but did not stop as more guards piled through the door. They wrangled the squirming teen down onto the chair.

"Mr Valeska, I am Hugo Strange, your generous benefactor," he began.

"Yeah, yeah. I owe you my life and shit," the redhead laughed. "When are we gonna get to the fun stuff doctor? Little electrocution, little water torture. I'm not here because I was a good boy."

The cap was lowered over his head and the wooden bit placed into his mouth. Strange turned on the electric chair, smirking. Instead of screaming in agony, Valeska simply laughed. A haunting sound that would shake a lesser man to the very core. Yes, he certainly was interesting.


	15. Chapter 15: Pain

**AN: I'M BAAACKKK. I'm so sorry for all the waiting, I got a job and graduated high school, so I had all of that to sort out. Also I'm starting college soon, so that had to happen. Thank you to all of those who expressed your concern. I promise I'm fine.**

 **Woo, okay you guys are in a for an angsty chapter. I wanted it to be a little bit of an emotional journey, but I did throw in a little bit of fluff. Because even though this story is twisted, the one thing you can always count on Harley and Jerome to do is laugh. Also I'm trying something new with the italics in the last bit in Jerome's POV, so let me know if you like it or not. Again, thank you all for your support, song is Memories by Panic! At The Disco. Happy reading!**

Chapter 15: Loss

 _You're all I've ever known_

 _How I miss yesterday_

 _And how I let it fade away_

 _Don't fade away_

* * *

Ivy was becoming concerned, which was not a common feeling for the girl. The first week Harley hadn't showed up for work, she thought nothing of it. The second, she assumed that J had gotten them into trouble with the law again and they were just going to lay low. But at the end of the third week without even a whisper of the blonde's whereabouts, Ivy was actually worried. Harley wouldn't drop off the face of the earth without telling her. Or at least, that's what she hoped.

So, Ivy gathered up her willpower and dragged Cat to Harley and J's apartment. She needed backup if the ginger was in one of his less charitable moods.

The apartment building was like the hundred other of its kind in the Narrows: short and squat made of red brick that always smelt of blood and weed. The inhabitants were less charming than the stench, meth heads mixed in with gamblers down on their luck. Suddenly Ivy was thankful for her two jobs allowing her to live in a somewhat decent place.

Arriving at Harley's flat, Ivy knocked once. Twice. On her fifth knock, Cat pushed her aside.

"Dumbass, we can't let J know here," she hissed, but still sunk to her knees to start picking the lock on the door. "Do ya wanna end up hanging from Wayne Tower?"

Ivy shook her head, dutifully watching the young burglar work her magic. With a small click the door swung slightly open on its own. Cat returned to her feet, placing a finger to her lips before pushing the door open more.

Inside the main area, there was Harley sitting with her back to the girls. However, the rest of her surroundings didn't make sense. On the wall opposite the door was a series of pictures, maps, and newspaper articles connected with red string. There seemed to be several topics, including a lanky boy with shaggy brown hair, Arkham Asylum, and a bald man with pink colored glasses. And surrounding the blonde herself was a spiral of weapons, all ordered meticulously by type. Knives, bombs, even a katana. Although none were as bone chilling as the baseball bat laid haphazardly on the scattered paper, the word "GOODNIGHT" written in red paint. Or, what Ivy hope to be red paint. The blonde seemed to be worse for wear, inattentive and shaking as she lifted a newspaper clipping.

"Harley..." The redhead began. "Harley what happened?"

The girl in question turned, looking even worse from the front. The dark circles under her eyes were thick and purple, her hair escaping her two ponytails. She looked exhausted. And, although Ivy had never thought this of anyone before, slightly terrifying. Ivy was reminded of a coil stretched so far that there was no way it could ever retain its original shape. She felt like she was watching Harley's inevitable break in slow motion.

"Jonathan happened," the blonde spat. "And J..."

Cat and Ivy shared a look. Truth be told they had expected J to snap at some point, to go completely off the deep end. They had just hoped Harley wouldn't be the thing he took his anger out on.

Cat spoke up. "If he hurt ya, we'll make him pay I swear-"

"J didn't hurt me!" The blonde's voice turned shrill. "He'd never do that! He's dead."

Oh. Oh.

That changed things.

"Maybe this is for the better..." Ivy began.

Harley's eyes became dangerous. Calmly the blonde stood, stalking towards Ivy. Her walk, her demeanor was wrong. None of it seemed like Harley. Instead she had taken on J's characteristics, right down to the sickening grin plastered on her face. It was unnerving to say the least, to see the effect J had on her. Gone was their blonde, bubbly friend they used to sneak onto the roof together during work. Instead was a shell of her former self, driven mad by grief and loss. It wasn't right, it wasn't Harley.

She backed Ivy against the wall. "Don't you think for a second that you know what's best for me. Now get out."

"Cut it out, Harls!" Cat said.

"Ah said to get out!" Harley practically screamed, flinging her pocket knife in Cat's direction. The blade grazed the young burglar's ear and embedded itself in the wall.

Ivy hurried to comply, dragging Cat with her out the door, sparing only a glance back at Harley.

•••

Harley watched her friends leave her apartment, feeling nothing. Logically, she knew she should have. But they had no information, they didn't help her kill Jonathan. No point. No use.

Her brain was a mess. Half the time, she couldn't think straight. Whispers from people that weren't there, memories of Jerome playing out before her very eyes. Time passed in hazy increments. She honestly couldn't say if it had been three days or three months since Jerome had died. But the pain, that was always there. It never truly left. Occasionally she could distract herself enough to get her mind off it. But her anguish always came back when she was trying to fall asleep in their bed that was too big for just one.

Jerome. Her maniac. Her psychotic lover. Her everything. Those words no longer held negative connotations to the girl, instead they reminded her of being safe in the Galavans' penthouse. A blessed three weeks of just Jerome and her. Harley was certain that if her right leg was cut off, it would hurt less than this expanse of pain.

Getting up to lock the door, Harley glanced at the kitchen, feeling another memory resurface.

 _Harley saw her target. There was no way it could get away this time. She backed to the edge of the hallway, an unobstructed path in plain sight._

 _Steeling herself, the blonde launched herself over the couch, landing in a full on sprint until she pounced on her target. Her arms and legs latched around it like a vice grip, the only sounds she heard were a gasp and a breathless laugh. Harley smiled._

 _"Ah think Ah scared you, Mr J," she teased. For who else could her target have been other than Jerome?_

 _She was currently wrapped around her lover's torso, clinging on like a spider monkey. She craned her neck to see his face, which was a mixture of amusement and annoyance. Which made the girl quite proud, if she was being completely honest._

 _"'Course not," he scoffed, sauntering over towards the kitchen counter. He pitched himself backwards, causing Harley to let go and land on her bum on the counter. "I knew you were coming all along."_

 _He turned to face her, causing Harley to giggle._ "Ah don't think so."

 _"Well I do," he countered. His face was so close to hers, and Harley was extremely excited. "Harls..."_

 _He leaned in, but instead of kissing her like she had thought, the redhead blew a giant raspberry on her neck. The blonde squirmed._

 _"Jerome it tickles!" She laughed, trying to push him off of her._

 _Eventually, he relented, bringing his mouth up to hers in a heated kiss. Harley tangled her fingers in his hair, finally getting what she wanted._

 _"Better?" He asked, a devious smile playing on his lips._

 _"Much."_

Harley touched her face, her hand coming back wet. She hadn't realized she had been crying. Wiping the rest of her tears away, Harley picked up her newspaper clippings. She had work to do.

•••

J awoke to the sounds of metal clinking together. It wasn't an uncommon experience for him. The boy had been waking up either in a cell or to some form of brainwashing torture. It had happened ever since he was- _zombiefiedreanimatednotdead_ \- revived.

He wasn't a stupid man, unlike most of the other experiments in here. J knew he had died, that this Dr Strange had brought him back. From there on, he didn't remember much. He definitely had killed people, he had some ties to a circus. And, there was a girl. Harley, his harlequin. But from there, his memory drew blanks. Fuzzy images, whispers of people long gone. It was torture, driving him insane. Of course, he figured that the insanity had always had him in its throes but this. This, was an all new kind of grip. It had him in its unwavering claws.

The metal clinking continued. It was incessant. And. It. Wouldn't. Stop.

Blearily he opened his eyes, ready to yell at whoever was interrupting his slumber. What he had expected was a few guards, maybe even Doctor Strange or that strict woman that always followed him around. Instead was a beautiful blonde teenager, tears streaming down her face as she pounded at the chains with a metal tray.

Harley.

 _Notherebutherehowwhynotsafe_

J's brain couldn't make sense of it. Why would she be here? How could she have even gotten in here? When he tried to rationalize the situation, the redhead winced as his head ached in pain. How else was he supposed to remember that morning's electrocution session?

"Ah gotta get you outta here!" She cried, her uninhibited accent being tell tale sign that she was truly scared. "We got two minutes before they figure out Ah'm down here."

"Harls..." He winced again as one of the metal links broke free, effectively freeing him. "You shouldn't be here."

"Of course Ah should," she smiled slowly, pressing her forehead against his. "Ah promised Ah'd never leave you."

 _WronganswerIMPOSTERcheater_

That wasn't right. She had never made that promise to him. In fact, he could have sworn it was the other way around. He wasn't completely sure, but it was enough to not sit right with him.

Quick as lightning, J reached out to one of the tables to the side of him, fingers grasping for the sharpest tool possible. And then he sunk it into- _fakewrongtraitorIMPOSTER_ \- Harley's eye. As the scalpel hung from her formerly baby blue eye, J had to laugh as the destroyed blood vessels made it turn red.

"Bzzt. Wrong answer," he said.

Fake Harley breathed out in shock, wailing as she clutched the twisting scalpel. Despite knowing that she was fake, J didn't feel elation at her suffering. _Wrongpainheartpoundingheadspinning_. Guilt. It was new to him. As imposter Harley's cries grew higher and higher, so did J's newfound feeling. He never felt guilty, because everything he did had a joke, a purpose. Even this had one. But because the imposter had his harlequin's smile, her face, her laugh, his elation of killing was dampened by that all consuming guilt.

And he was rewarded with this realization with another electric shock.

Fake Harley disappeared, along with the bashed in metal tray. He was still shackled to the chair, and this time there was that dammed man and his assistant in the room.

"The cuttlefish DNA we spliced seems to be working nicely, but not enough. Double the sample given to Patient 13," Strange instructed to the sadistic woman. "Patient 7 seems to have had too much for proper reconditioning but not enough for proper memory function."

Miss Peabody nodded. "The fever dreams we're giving him aren't enough. He won't give in. He figures it out before we can manipulate it properly."

"In due time, Miss Peabody. In due time," the doctor said.

J didn't have time to fully process their plan for him until another electric shock coursed through his body, whiting out his thought process.

"I believe I have an idea to make this work," he distantly heard, before slumping down in the chair and passing out altogether.


	16. Chapter 16: Weak

**Fairly boring chapter, more plotty than anything. But hey Gotham's back on and so is Jerome! Ah, so proud of my homicidal carrot. Also major props if you can guess where the Marvel reference in this chapter is! Song is Trouble by Halsey. Happy Reading!**

Chapter 16: Weak

 _But I've got my mind_

 _Made up this time_

 _There's a menace in my bed_

 _Can you see his silhouette?_

 _Can you see his silhouette tonight?_

* * *

Harley was insane.

There was no other way around it. Ivy had loved her slightly off-kilter friend, but ever since J had died, the blonde had been certifiably insane. The redhead had wondered, more than a few times, if Harley should be locked in Arkham.

Visiting her didn't help those thoughts very much.

Ivy and Cat would come to make sure Harley was taking care of herself. She didn't go out to get food, she barely ate, and a few times they had to remind her to get up and shower. When the two opened the door to the apartment, they weren't sure what they'd find. Sometimes Harley would be blankly staring at old newspapers and her assortment of weapons, others she wouldn't have moved from her bed. It broke Ivy's heart.

Cat would roll her eyes and simply throw whatever food she had brought into the fridge.

It was one such time when Harley was asleep that Ivy voiced her concern.

"It's almost been a year, she can't keep going on like this," Ivy had been leaning on a relatively clean counter, frowning at her realization.

Cat snorted. "Her? We can't keep going on like this. It's bad enough I gotta feed you, now I gotta feed her too."

"She's our friend."

"More like dead weight."

The young burglar wasn't exactly the kindest towards Harley's condition. Not since the incident a few months ago, when the blonde had practically attacked them for trying to get rid of a few photographs. They were faded and water logged, Cat saw no point in keeping useless things. Harley clearly saw different.

Faint crying drifted from the one room in the apartment. The girls stared at each other before making their way to the door. Harley was inconsolable when crying, not to mention a loose canon. They still hadn't repaired the broken tile from her last outburst.

Hesitating, Ivy took one last look towards the closed bedroom door, wishing she could console Harley. To be the one who occupied the blonde's thoughts instead of that bastard J. With a final sigh, the redhead left the apartment with Cat in tow. Some things just weren't possible.

•••

Harley faintly listened to the conversation of her two friends. She knew she was nothing but a burden to them, she couldn't even take care of herself without being reminded. But, it wasn't much of a motivator. Instead, it made the girl just want to waste away. To disappear forever. Maybe that way she'd finally be with Jerome again.

It had been 11 months and 6 days since she had seen him last. 11 months and 6 days since she had been with the the love of her life, the one person she could understand in the world. 11 months and 6 days since he had been so cruelly taken from her.

The realization brought about a new round of tears, causing the blonde to bury deeper into the sheets of her bed. She breathed in deeply, only to throw the blankets off in disgust. They no longer smelled like Jerome, they no longer reminded her of him. Instead they were just a painful, crimson reminder of what she had lost and how it could never be hers again.

A wail escaped her lips, before she mentally scolded herself. She was pathetic in her own mind. Harley had once been so strong. She had been able to endure beatings from her mother, relentless bullying at school, not to mention suffering at her own hand. And what did that amount to? Nothing. She was a frail wisp of a person now, no longer able to even function correctly. It disgusted her, simply because she knew it would have disgusted Jerome. Nearly 17 and she couldn't even take care of herself. What a waste of a human.

Harley wiped her tears from her cheeks, sitting upright. She had never made good on her promise to Jonathan. Maybe now was time to remedy that.

Slowly, the girl slid out of bed. Her bones creaked and her joints popped. Dear god she was turning into an old lady. Harley made small steps towards the closet. If she was going to go out, she needed to look presentable. Black shorts and a long sleeved crop top would have to do.

Harley sighed, changing into the clothes. She reluctantly walked around the room, gathering items into a small backpack, scraping her hair into two pigtails. Knife, water bottle, gun, and about a dozen different lollipops were thrown in the bag, the blonde taking one out after the fact to suck on it. She sighed, staring at herself in the bathroom mirror.

She looked dead. There were bags under her eyes and cheeks had sunken in, getting rid of her once round face. The veins on her temples stood out, Harley dragging one finger to trace across the blue lines. Applying some makeup didn't help much. She was still unearthly pale and hollow, the red of her lipstick swipe standing out all the more. Just on one side, to mimic the photo they put into the front page news the day after Jerome had died. Harley hated those pictures. They depicted Jerome lying cold and dead on a metal gurney, face crazed and a single stream of blood curving into a macabre half smile. She thought they were too cold, too lifeless, too dark, not nearly as bright as he was. But then again, the inaccuracy of the Gotham Gazette was the one thing she could count on.

Taking one last glance at herself and feeling worse than when she woke up, the girl marched out of the apartment. She had a few fanatics to convert to her cause, and an idiot friend to kill.

•••

J never thought he would be so distraught in all his life.

Well, of course, if he could remember most of his life.

Strange's tortures were becoming more creative, the brainwashing longer, the pain more intense. Everything hurt constantly. But honestly, when there was round the clock torture, there wasn't much you could do to top it. The pain started to feel more distant, less like it was happening to him. Psychotic break maybe?

Now the dreams, those were the worst part.

At first, Strange had tried Harley, just one. Then it progressed to Harley in the hallways, physically trying to break them out. Then it took a turn for the worse, with multiples of J's blonde all tainting him, laughing, nagging, making everything worse.

In one, she called him Jerome. The name... It fit. He liked it. It must have been his name. But even if it was one of Strange's own choosing, it was a nice name. He decided to keep it.

He had to kill every single one of them to escape the dream.

It was beginning to grate on his already frazzled mind, to pick away at the single thread of sanity he had left. Currently, Jerome was standing in his cell (was it his cell? Or maybe someone else's? Was this even real?) surrounded by a dozen dead bodies. All of the bodies were similar, belonging to one Harley Quinn.

He sunk to his knees, discarding the bone saw he had picked up. Nonononononotrightnotokay. The bodies shouldn't be here, he shouldn't be here. The redhead paused. Where should he be then?

Memory was his worst enemy, his filled to the brim of little snippets- sounds and flashes of vision- and her. Entirely her. From her bold smile to her blue eyes to those diamond scars on her thigh.

Wait, he didn't know she had scars.

J tried to chase the memory down, catching only small bits for his effort. Them curled around each other, Harley in some impossible angle and J's face in her stomach, lightly tracing the scars through her skirt, rubbing, touching, feeling.

These bodies didn't have scars. Jerome never had done something gingerly, but an onlooker would have no other description for the way he lifted one of the bodies' skirt, only to reveal smooth flesh. Not Harley.

He glared at the Not-Harleys, watching them flicker in and out of focus. End of simulation. End of line. Possibly end of Jerome. Who knows?

Jerome rubbed his hands together, glaring at the sky. "Hit me! Do it do it do it!"

The hit never came. To Jerome's disappointment, he was brought out of the hallucination slowly. He blinked rapidly at the blinding lights, theatrically rolling his eyes as Strange began to drone on about how his performance was less than satisfactory.

The guards unstrapped him from what Jerome liked to call the torture table. Instead of cuffing him and bringing him back to his cell, the guards holding him took a turn down a corridor he'd never seen before.

"Look boys, I know you're under paid and that's got to your brain cells, but my cell is that'a way," Jerome tried to point in the correct direction, only to be jerked back by the guards. "Touchy touchy... someone woke up on the wrong side of the prison yard today."

"Jerome," Strange's PA system crackled to life. "You've been... less than helpful with our testing here at Indian Hill. Due to your violent nature and generally inconclusive test results, you're going to be taking a trip to a cryogenic tube. For the next ten years. Enjoy your sleep."

Jerome frowned, eyeing the metal tube that would look more at home on a submarine than on land. "Look doc, I haven't been the most- ah- well behaved boy but if ya-"

Jerome cut himself off, pitching his body backwards to through off the balance of the guards. Like hell he was going in that tube and like hell was he letting himself be frozen again. A quick punch to the nose of one guard rewarded him with a sickening crunch and a stream of blood. The sight of the crimson liquid only spurred the ginger one, kicking and punching and biting. It was if Jerome's brain had gone on autopilot with only one thought: bloody fucking mayhem.

Killkilldeathbloodbadnokillkill

He didn't register the reinforcements of guards or the fact that he was just whaling away on a dead guy. What he did notice is when the guards wrestled him into the tube and reopened the stab wound on his neck, causing him to slump over. Damn bastards.

The door fell shut with an ominous crash and any person in their right mind would be terrified. But Jerome? He was laughing. Because when he got out of that tube, all those fuckers would be dead in ditches with a similar smile carved into their own faces.


End file.
